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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 























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THE SHADOW 

OF 

ROGER LAROQUE 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 


JULES MARY 




NEW YORK 


CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 & 106 Fourth Avenue 







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m 


Copyright, 1890, by 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 




Al/ rights reserved. 


T 


THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


PUBLISHERS’ NOTE. 


“ The Shadow of Roger Laroque ” is one of the 
most powerful novels that has appeared in the French 
language in many a decade. M. Jules Mary has 
invented a new plot, and he has not resorted to the 
usual expedient of the French novelist to hold the 
reader s attention. The love of a wife for her hus- 
band, the devotion of a child to her father, are the 
pivots on which this story turns. From the first page 
to the last, the reader is spell-bound by the dramatic 
situations and the awful mystery that surrounds the 
Story of Roger Laroque. 

P^^yright was quick to seize upon the 
possibilities of this story is not to be wondered at. 
The reader will recognize it as the original of the 
play which, under the title of “ Roger L’Honte,” Mr. 
William Terriss produced with so much success. 


.■C 


THE 


SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


CHAPTER L 

A t the corner of the little Rue du Montalais which 
leads to the lake, about a couple of steps from 
the woods of Ville d’Avray, there was situated, about 
fifteen years ago, a charmingly attractive country- 
house, whose exterior was rendered both verdant and 
picturesque by the riotous masses of clematis and 
other climbing plants which half-concealed it ; an 
ideal nest for lovers who shunned the noise of the out- 
side world, and for sweethearts whose whole horizon 
was bounded by the limits of their passion. 

Scantily inhabited though it is in winter, Ville 
d’Avray sees its population increase tenfold with the 
budding of its forest trees, when the warm rays of the 
June sun force into new life the graceful branches of 
the numerous willows which border the edges of the 
pools so dear to Corot. Then, fleeing from the 
choking dust of the asphalt and the slippery mire of 
the wooden pavements, bankers, brokers, and artists 
flock hither in swarms. 

The Montalais villa had been bought some years 
previously by M. Roger Laroque, a machinist of con- 


i 


2 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

siderable reputation, whose workshops were in the 
Rue Saint Maur, and who also possessed private 
apartments at 117 Boulevard Malesherbes. 

During the winter he was domiciled at the latter 
place, but in summer he sought refuge with his wife 
and daughter in Ville d’Avray. Every morning, 
however, his business obliged him to repair to his 
shops in Paris, where he breakfasted and spent the 
day, returning about seven in the evening to dine with 
his little family. His routine of life was that pursued 
by all Parisians of similar standing ; those who have 
not yet amassed a sufficiency to enable them to retire, 
and who therefore divide their existence into two 
parts : city by day, country by night. 

As late as eight o’clock of the evening upon which 
our story opens, in July, 1872, contrary to his usual 
custom, Roger Laroque had not returned home. Din- 
ner was ready. The hanging lamp was already lighted 
in the charming dining-room, which communicated 
with a conservatory abloom with fragrant blossoms. 
Cut-glass glittered upon the spotless damask, and the 
lamp-light cast back myriad reflections from the 
polished silver. 

The salon, whose windows opened upon a wide 
terrace, was, like the dining-room, wholly untenanted. 
So calm and peaceful lay the dwelling amidst its 
flowery surroundings that, had it not been for the 
lights, one might have thought it deserted. 

However, from the apartments on the left of the 
salon a murmur of voices might have been heard, 
conversing in low tones. They proceeded from the 
chamber of Mme. Laroque, which still remained 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 3 

plunged in the semi-obscurity of the twilight. The 
room was unillumined by either candle or lamp. 

The tones were those of two voices ; one, full, sweet, 
and grave, of the sort which prepossesses one in favor 
of its owner even before her acquaintance is made ; the 
other, the gay, happy voice of a child, clear and musi- 
cal as the clash of crystals, ringing joyously out, laden 
with the happy carelessness of youth and innocence. 
They belonged to mother and daughter : Henriette 
Laroque and her only child Suzanne. Mme. Laroque 
had drawn an easy-chair close to the open window and 
had seated herself upon it, drawing Suzanne down 
beside her. 

The setting sun had sent a volley of golden arrows 
quivering through the windows, illuminating for a 
few brief moments the entire chamber, and permitting 
one to discover, as by the reflection from a neigh- 
boring fire, a bed, with light airy draperies, fauteuils 
covered with Oriental stuffs, and the thousand and one 
belongings which adorn and invest the chambers of 
women. 

The ruddy beams also irradiated the graceful 
figures of mother and child as they sat, with inter- 
laced hands, chatting and laughing lightly together. 
Both were blonde ; one was about twenty-five, in the 
full flower of her beauty ; the other seven, not even 
in the spring-time of life. 

They bore a strong resemblance to each other, 
possessing the same large, blue eyes, the same low 
brows crowned by masses of fair hair, the same pale, 
delicate, and refined features, the same finely chiseled 
lips, red as cherries and perhaps a trifle firmly 


4 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

molded. Even the manner and gestures of the child — 
who was already a bit of a coquette, and whose glance 
betrayed an intelligence far in advance of that of 
ordinary children of her age — were evidently copied 
from those of the parent. 

Although eight o’clock had struck — a whole hour 
later than that which usually witnessed her husband’s 
return — Mme. Laroque felt no anxiety. What cause 
had she for apprehension ? Was she not convinced 
that Roger adored her, even as she loved him ? — and 
surely a love which can withstand eight years of 
married life carries with it the conviction of established 
happiness. 

But she had especially desired his prompt return 
to-night above all others, and she and Suzanne were 
both impatient at his prolonged absence ; while even 
the house itself, with its profusion of flowers, its smiling, 
festive appearance, seemed astonished at the silence 
and desertion which enveloped it. For to-day is the 
seventh anniversary of the birth of little Suzanne ; 
Suzanne, the only child, the spoiled darling, the idol 
of her father. 

And from early morning, even before daybreak, 
Henriette had been busy teaching her to recite a 
pretty little address, with which she v^as to welcome 
Roger presently, when he should return. 

Let us listen to the grave voice of the mother and 
the pure, crystal tones of the child as they whisper 
together in order to still preserve for these last few 
intervening moments, the mystery of their innocent 
surprise. 

You have not forgotten, darling ?” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 5 

“ No indeed, mother; I have forgotten nothing! " 

“ What will you say to papa when he embraces 
you ? 

I shall say : Papa, I have loved you for seven years. 
I love you as much as mamma. I know that you 
are devoting your life to mine, and that you are sacrific- 
ing yourself in order that my future may be a happy 
one. But, dearest papa, I am never so happy as when 
your arms are about me. I know how much you in- 
dulge me, and every day I love you more and more, 
because each day I appreciate more fully your good- 
ness. If I cause you pain, papa dear, it is through 
ignorance, and I ask you to forgive me for it.” 

And you understand and mean what you say, my 
child ?” 

Oh, mother dear,” replied the little one, throwing 
her arms impulsively about Henriette’s neck, “ you 
know that I love him just as much as I do you.” 

The clock struck half-past eight. Henriette made 
a gesture of surprise. 

“ Papa will not dine with us this evening after all,” she 
said. Come ! I don’t want you to wait any longer.” 

They parssed into the dining-room, and Mme. Ba- 
roque rang for the servant. Three domestics per- 
formed the work at the villa ; a coachman, cook, and 
chambermaid, Victoire ; the latter having been but 
two days in Henriette’s service. 

The dinner was a silent one. Despite herself, a 
vague foreboding oppressed the young wife’s heart. 
When on two or three former occasions Roger had 
been detained in Paris, he had invariably telegraphed ; 
but to-night there was no message. Why ? 


6 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

They returned to the bed-room, and another hour 
rolled by ; still Roger remained absent. Henriette, 
reclining in her easy-chair, sat pondering before the 
open window. Victoire had proposed lighting the 
lamps, but she had negatived the idea. What need 
was there of light? She felt no desire to read, and 
the moonlight was superb. The sky was of a clear 
blue, suggesting infinite depths in its dusky profundity, 
while the diamond points of innumerable stars shone 
as if they burned with the luster of hidden fires. 

Ten o’clock struck. 

You are not asleep, dearest? ” Henriette asked. 

No, mother,” replied the child, whose eyes were 
indeed wide open. 

Do you not want to go to bed ? ” 

‘‘Oh, no ! I want to kiss papa first.” 

Henriette, greatly disturbed, leaned forward upon 
the balcony, gazing anxiously up the road which 
Roger ordinarily took from the station. Suzanne, 
close beside her, imitated her silent and protracted 
inspection of the deserted street. 

The night was warm and cloudless, and occasional 
flashes of lightning illuminated the distant horizon. 
As the night had advanced, passers-by had become 
rare, and by degrees the voices from the lakes had 
ceased to disturb the solitude by their cries and 
laughter. Silence reigned throughout the whole 
neighborhood. 

The Montalais villa is shut off fromVille d’Avray 
by trees and gardens. Facing it, a little to the left, 
and surrounded by chestnut trees, is a neat, little cot- 
tage with green blinds, which gives directly upon the 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


7 


street ; while the villa, on the contrary, is separated 
from the high-road by a lawn, which is kept green by 
a pretty fountain. 

The cottage was lighted and the open blinds per- 
mitted a view of a chamber furnished in mahogany, 
with a table in the middle and in the background a 
sort of office desk, pushed close back against the wall. 

Eleven o’clock sounded from the neighboring vil- 
lage church. Henriette shivered, and clasped her 
hands nervously together. “ Mon Dieu ! ” she said, 
“what can have happened?” Then, addressing her 
little daughter, she continued : “ Suzanne, are you 
not cold, or sleepy ? ” 

“ Oh, no, mother ; it is so pleasant, and 1 want so 
much to see dear papa ! ” 

In the opposite house a man of middle height sud- 
denly appeared, and, passing between the windows 
and the yellowish light shed by a candle in a china 
candelabra, approached the desk, and opening its 
cover, seated himself before it. He was distinctly 
visible to the watchers, and both Henriette and Su- 
zanne observed him. He was the tenant of the 
cottage, Pere Larouette. 

“ Our new neighbor has come home,” remarked 
the child. 

The man drew from his coat-pocket a bursting 
pocket-book, emptied its contents upon the desk, and 
began to spread out before him packets of bank-notes 
and rolls of louis — enough for a considerable for- 
tune — which he soon commenced to arrange methodi- 
cally, counting and recounting it with evident 
pleasure. 


8 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 


Henriette and Suzanne could only see his profile. 
He was sitting so that his back was turned to the 
door of the apartment. 

What is he doing, mamma ? ” asked Suzanne. 

‘‘ He is counting money, which he has probably just 
received,” the mother replied. 

The first quarter past eleven struck harshly upon 
the still night air. Henriette took Suzanne in her 
arms and pressed a long, fond kiss on her brow. 

‘‘ I am going to call Victoire to undress you,” she 
said tenderly, “ and then I am going to put you to bed.” 

‘‘ Oh, mother dear ! just one moment ! Papa can’t 
be much later.” 

‘‘ No, my darling; it is very late. You will get too 
tired.” And the young wife pressed an electric but- 
ton communicating with the servants’ apartments. 

As Victoire did not appear at once she rang again, 
and then returned to the balcony. Suzanne was still 
there, straining her eyes to their uttermost to dis- 
tinguish a glimpse of her absent father. 

The moon still shone serenely in the calm heavens. 
Opposite, their neighbor, with slow and measured move- 
ments, indicating a miserly enjoyment, continued to 
count his gold and notes. 

Victoire shortly appeared. 

“ Light the lamp and the night-lamp,” directed 
Henriette, and then you may come for Suzanne.” 

At the same moment, the child leaned suddenly 
forward over the balcony and, clapping her hands, 
laughed gleefully, while she cried joyfully : 

Father, father ! we are waiting for you. I have 
not gone to bed yet,” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 


9 


A few feet away a man might indeed be seen making 
his way up the street. He was of high stature, with a 
light gray felt hat on his head and wore a summer 
overcoat of the same shade, having a short cape over 
the shoulders. 

At the sound of Suzanne's cry, he suddenly darted 
into the chestnuts, which shaded the cottage. Hen- 
riette, leaning beside Suzanne, had also seen him. 

Roger, Roger ! " she called out ; why are you so 
late ? You cannot imagine how anxious we have been! ' 

But the man, whether he heard or not, vouchsafed 
no response. He was now crawling forward, with 
bent back, through the trees, stealthily approaching 
Larouette’s cottage. All of a sudden he found him- 
self obliged to cross an intersecting path. The moon- 
light again shone full upon him. 

It is certainly Roger ! ” exclaimed Henriette. 

What can he be doing, and where is he going ? " 

In complete bewilderment Suzanne continued to 
watch her father’s movements, remaining perfectly still 
the while. And the mother almost stopped breath- 
ing — her heart wrung with an inexplicable agony ; 
her hands unconsciously gripping the iron balcony ; 
her face pale as death ; her teeth set and her whole 
appearance scarcely recognizable in its strange horror. 

The man stole forth from the trees and furtively 
entered the cottage. 

Look ! ” exclaimed Suzanne. “ Papa is going into 
the neighbor’s house ! ” 

A few moments passed, and then Larouette rose, 
and, standing upright before his desk, slowly and 
carefully locked its drawers. 


10 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

Suddenly something happened behind him, which 
he failed to observe, but which was plainly visible to 
Henriette and Suzanne from their post of observa- 
tion opposite : the door opened softly — noiselessly 
apparently, as Larouette failed to notice it — and ad- 
mitted a man of a tall and robust figure, who advanced 
into the room until he stood directly behind Larouette, 
with his back to the window. 

Hanging half over the balcony, with dilated eyes 
and drawn features, Henriette watched his movements. 

What was about to happen over there, across the 
way ? Was it indeed Roger, her husband, upon whom 
her gaze was riveted ? 

The man raised both arms, with clinched fists, above 
Larouette’s bare head. Henriette tried to cry out, 
to warn the unsuspecting victim ; but a power beyond 
herself strangled her voice in her throat. She found 
only enough strength to emit a hoarse sigh, a sort of 
horror-stricken groan, as she murmured : 

Roger, Roger ! Merciful God ! ” 

The scene which followed lasted scarcely an instant. 
The clinched fists fell, but at the same moment Larou- 
ette turned, avoiding the blow. He uttered one cry, 
and only one : 

Murder ! 

Then came a short and fierce struggle, during which 
the assassin’s hat fell to the ground. It was a high, 
gray, summer hat, trimmed with a wide black ribbon. 
The candle was tipped over upon the table, but, 
before its light was extinguished, a dark face, covered 
with a heavy black beard, was for an instant discern- 
ible. No further sound was heard. The room was 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. it 

now wrapped in darkness. Larouette tried to defend 
himself, but he was of delicate build ; while the 
murderer was a colossus. With unnatural strength, 
probably increased ten-fold by his danger, Larouette 
fought and struggled, vainly trying to cry out for 
help. 

A moment later and there came a vivid flash fol- 
lowed by a dull, heavy report. And then — silence. 

Henriette drew back, her teeth chattering like cas- 
tanets, while great drops of sweat stood out upon her 
pallid brow. Her expression was that of one crazed 
as she muttered, with bated breath, while her whole 
existence seemed as if torn up by the roots : 

Roger ! Can it be he ? No, no ! It is too hor- 
rible, too horrible ! ” 

And then suddenly, in the midst of her terrible 
despair and bewilderment, the thought came to her of 
her child, of the little daughter whom she had for- 
gotten during the five minutes, which had sufficed for 
this awful drama ; of that little daughter who had 
been the first to recognize Roger. 

“ Suzanne ! ” she cried. 

‘‘ Mother ! ” replied a weak, trembling, little voice 
behind her. 

Victoire had just brought in a lamp, and now the 
bed-chamber was thoroughly illumined. Through its 
lace shade the lamplight penetrated easily, and fell 
directly upon the child’s face. She was not weeping, 
nor did she make the slightest gesture ; but her eyes 
remained strangely fixed and motionless. There was 
no doubt that she had comprehended all, for her fair, 
angelic brow, wjjich shone with candor and purity, 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

was traversed by one long, deep wrinkle. Her lips 
were tightly compressed and wore a pinched, drawn 
expression. She had aged by several years, and her 
countenance was almost that of a woman. 

Henriette snatched her to herself in an almost sav- 
age embrace, and as she held her pressed close to 
her breast, she gently laid her hand over the child’s 
strained eyeballs while she whispered breathlessly, 
well-nigh beside herself with pity and fear : 

‘‘You have seen nothing, nothing. Neither have 
you heard anything. Listen carefully and under- 
stand what I am saying to you. It is absolutely nec- 
essary that you should have neither seen nor heard 
anything. Do you understand ? ” 

“Yes, mother ; I have not seen or heard anything.” 

The voice was changed. It was no longer the 
clear, pure crystal of the child ; it had developed into 
the full, grave tones of the mother. Matured in an 
instant by a most horrible spectacle, the little child 
had awakened to a swift and unerring comprehension 
of the future. 

“ You will never tell anything ? ” 

“ Nothing, ever.” 

“You will promise, if you have any love for me, if 
you would not see your mother die.” 

“ I promise you, mother.” 

“You will never repeat what you have seen, what 
you have heard, no matter how you may be threat- 
ened or what temptations may be offered you ? ” 

“ Never — unless you order me to, mother.” 

“It is well. May the good God spare you suffer- 
ing ! May He strike me, kill me with grief and hor- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 13 

ror, if. He will but have pity on your weakness and 
innocence ! ” 

She did not weep, but deep, fierce sobs choked her 
utterance, stifling her speech. Yet she found strength 
to close the window, and, as she turned toward the 
bed, she discovered that the maid still stood, in mute 
consternation, by its side. Henriette felt that she 
should faint away, but rallying herself, she com- 
manded her voice sufficiently to say : 

^^You may go, Victoire. I will put Suzanne to 
bed, myself.” 

“ But did not madame see — hear — there — close 
by—” 

“ What ? What was it ? ” 

“ A gun-shot, or a pistol ? ” 

‘‘ You are crazy, girl. Leave us ! ” 

“ Madame will pardon me. I thought — ” and Vic- 
toire departed, trembling. 

Henriette chanced to see a reflection of herself in 
a mirror, and drew back in affright, so startling was 
the apparition. Suddenly she heard behind her 
a succession of piteous moans. Tremblingly she 
turned and discovered Suzanne prostrate upon the 
floor, with sightless eyes and working features, writh- 
ing in convulsions. She gathered the child into her 
arms and pressed her to her, cradling her upon her 
heaving breast and striving to rouse her from the fit. 
She pressed feverish kisses upon her hands, her brow, 
her eyes, and cheeks, devouring her meanwhile with 
her solicitous gaze. 

Suzanne, my darling, my dear little daughter, 
hush ! hush ! Stop crying ; calm yourself, my pet. 


14 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQDE. 

I beg of you to try and be calm for mamma’s sake. 
Don’t be afraid, dear one ! Am I not here, Suzanne ? 
My own dear little girl, you would not grieve me, 
would you ? ” 

But the child, completely prostrated by the strain 
upon her nerves, failed to hear her adjurations. Hen- 
riette wet a towel and bathed the little one’s face, 
neck, and brow ; and at last the attack subsided, and 
the child regained consciousness. 

For some moments she kept perfectly still, with 
her sweet blue eyes fastened searchingly upon her 
mother’s face. Finally, as if replying to the mute 
apprehensiveness^of Henriette’s look, she reiterated : 

“No, mother; I shall neither have seen nor heard 
anything.” Hot tears of agony streamed down the 
mother’s cheeks as, again opening her arms, she drew 
the child to her suffering heart ; but Suzanne’s eyes 
were dry. 

For some time they remained thus, crushed against 
each other, huddled together in the depths of the 
easy-chair, shrinking nervously at the least sound, and 
having constantly before their mental vision that hor- 
rible spectacle of the murder which they had wit- 
nessed. 

Suddenly they started and rose to their feet hastily, 
though Suzanne never loosened her hold upon her 
mother, whose form she enveloped with her tiny 
arms. 

The gate which separated the lawn from the Rue 
de Versailles had just opened with a rusty groan. 
Steps w'ere heard traversing the gravel path which 
encircled the fountain, and in another moment the 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 15 

sound of a key turning in the lock of the outer door 
was audible. 

“ It is he — he ! ” muttered Henriette, while the 
child tightened her hold of her. 

It was indeed Roger Laroque, whose step had been 
recognized by hi§ wife. 

Extinguishing the large lamp and leaving the night 
lamp burning, Henriette softly closed her chamber 
door. She trembled lest her husband should enter 
the room. With quivering hearts the mother and 
daughter listened to the approaching footsteps as 
they mounted the stairs, traversed the corridor, and 
stopped. The listeners scarcely breathed in their 
terror. Roger had paused on the other side of his 
wife’s door. What if he were to open it ! 

In the midst of the death-like silence they could 
distinctly hear his breathing, which was short and 
uneven, like that of one who had been running hard. 
What was he about to do ? Would he enter the 
chamber ? 

No. He waited and listened, as if to discover if 
his wife had retired. They could even distinguish 
the touch of his hand upon the door as he finally 
pushed it open a crack, and then tapped softly 
upon it. 

Henriette ! Henriette ! Are you asleep ?” 

There they sat, mother and daughter, with arms 
wound about each other and eyes rivetted upon that 
side of the room as if death menaced them from the 
other. Neither answered ; Henriette having covered 
the child’s trembling lips with her hand. 

Persuaded that they were asleep, Roger softly with- 


l6 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

drew, stepping quietly, with the utmost caution lest he 
should wake them. His chamber was situated oppo- 
site his wife’s, on the other side of the salon. He 
entered it at once ; and again silence reigned. The 
whole world seemed sleeping. 

A quarter of an hour ago they had both been sit- 
ting out there upon the balcony, careless and happy, 
troubled only by their impatience for Roger’s return 
— and now ! Only the short space of quarter of an 
hour, and three lives ruined ! 

Truly the luckiest of all is he who lies dead there, 
yonder in the little mahogany-furnished chamber of 
the tiny cottage, whose revengeful soul is doubtless 
even now hovering above their very heads, planning 
a dire retribution for its assassin, and threatening 
their future with horrid shipwreck. 

Midnight sounded. The most sinister hour of all 
the twenty-four ; the hour of guilt and crime. Then 
the quarter — the half — and then the first hour of the 
new day. 

Still they crouched there in the corner, wrapped to- 
gether with nervous strength. Neither slept. Slept ! 

Finally Henriette rose and carried Suzanne to the 
bed, on which she laid her, dressed just as she was, 
in all her pretty holiday clothes, and threw a blanket 
over her. 

A thousand wild ideas buzzed in her maddened 
brain. What was she to do ? Roger a murderer ! 
What would become of her ? Should she fly with 
Suzanne — now — at once ? But to fly would be to 
accuse Roger, or at least to arouse suspicion against 
him. No ; that was out of the question. Whatever 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. IJ 

his conduct, her place was here, by his side, by the 
side of this man whom she had so adored ; who had 
been her first, her only love. Yesterday he had been 
her idol ; to-day he had proved himself a monster. 

She softly approached the bed and stood looking 
down upon Suzanne. The child’s eyes were closed 
and Henriette imagined that she was sleeping. 

So much the better ! ” she murmured to herself. 

Oh, God, in Thy mercy watch over her ! My inno- 
cent baby ! ” 

Quietly she opened the door and listened. Not a 
sound was audible. Silence reigned throughout the 
house. She entered the salon and took a few steps 
forward, when suddenly she paused and crouched down 
behind the piano. She had discovered that Roger's 
chamber door was standing wide open. 

A lamp burned upon a low desk before which 
Roger was seated, pale and preoccupied, his head 
supported by his two hands. Henriette contemplated 
him with renewed horror. 

A tall gray hat, trimmed with a wide black ribbon, — 
the very hat which, a few moments since, she had 
seen fall from the murderer’s head as he struggled 
with his victim, — lies beside Roger. The dark face, 
with its thick, heavy beard, of which she had obtained 
a momentary glimpse in the chamber across the way, 
is there before her — unmistakably that of Roger, her 
husband. 

She had embraced every detail of the occasion in 
one of those all-absorbing glances born of abnormal 
conditions, and she now observes, with ever-increasing 
agony of certitude, that Roger wears still the light 


i3 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

summer overcoat, with its short shoulder cape, which 
she had remarked as he entered Larouette’s chamber. 
It is a coat easily distinguished at night. The hat 
seems bent and crushed ; injured probably in the 
struggle. The coat is creased and wrinkled ; torn 
perhaps by a supreme effort of the dead man. 

Laroque’s countenance, too, is disturbed. His eyes 
are fixed on vacancy ; his beard is unkempt and dis- 
ordered. Although but thirty, any one seeing him 
now would credit him with at least fifty years of life. 
A last and most shocking detail meets Henriette’s gaze: 
it is a revolver which lies close beside her husband, at 
his very hand in fact. A revolver of very small cali- 
bre, but which has proved effectual in overcoming 
Larouette’s last convulsive efforts. 

The lamp-light falls softly upon all these frightful 
proofs as they lie calmly and peacefully in the midst 
of surroundings which recall the dearest and most 
familiar joys of Henriette’s life. 

As she contemplates and studies them, Henriette 
Laroque drinks her death potion drop by drop. All 
of a sudden she feels upon» her clasped, trembling 
hands, a cold, quivering face pressed convulsively. 
She stoops and kisses the pure, white lids. It is 
Suzanne, who, unable to sleep, has risen and stolen 
to her side, and who remains there, motionless as a 
little marble statue, joining her regard to that of her 
mother. Crouched behind the piano, with lowered 
heads and bated breath, they lose not even the slight- 
est movement of Laroque’*s. 

After sitting some time with his hands pressed to 
his brow, the latter finally rises and begins to pace up 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. IQ 

and down the room. His gait is confused and uncer- 
tain, like that of a drunkard, and occasionally he is 
forced to stop and lean up against a piece of furni- 
ture, as if to prevent himself from falling. 

They watch him as he stands there leaning against 
his desk, with his head bent upon his breast. • He 
seems lost in revery. Suddenly he raises his hands 
to his eyes. He appears to be weeping. Remorseful 
already, perhaps ! Now he drops his hands from his 
face and stretches his arm out to the revolver. He 
takes it up, gazes at it and toys with it a few moments, 
while an expression of fear and horror marks his 
countenance. He unbuttons his overcoat and casts 
it aside, then removes his undercoat and vest, expos- 
ing the white shirt which covers his breast. 

With steady hand he raises the revolver and lays 
its muzzle against his heart. 

And all this is seen and comprehended by those 
two silent watchers, who cower there in their hiding- 
place behind the piano — Roger Laroque’s wife and 
daughter. Upon their brows and in the compressed 
palms of their joined hands the cold sweat stands in 
huge beads. 

Roger’s look travels across the salon in the direction 
of the chamber where he believes his wife and child to 
be peacefully sleeping ; and how unfathomably deep 
and tender is the love with which it seems charged. 
One moment he hesitates. His thumb presses gently 
upon the trigger. A little heavier pressure will send 
him swift into eternity — but he dares not. With a 
hasty motion he tosses the weapon upon the desk. 

‘‘ Coward ! ” mutters Henriette, contemptuously ; 


20 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE, 

and, as Roger drops back again into his chair and 
becomes absorbed in meditation, she gathers her 
fainting child in her arms and passes swiftly and 
noiselessly back to her chamber. He is too engrossed 
to hear her. 

So the night passes. Henriette cannot go to bed ; 
and Suzanne occupies it alone, though weariness fails 
to conquer her consciousness. Even until daybreak 
her eyes remain wide open, their blue depths filled 
with a most inexpressible horror. 

About eight o’clock Henriette dressed her ; after 
which she disarranged the bed in order that the sus- 
picions of the maid might not be aroused by observ- 
ing that it had not been slept in ; then she dressed 
herself. 

Directly — there was no help for it — she would be 
obliged to go and meet her husband, to speak to him, 
yes, even to smile, in order that he should not suspect 
that she had witnessed his crime. 

All the time that she was dressing Suzanne and 
herself she was urged by an irresistible desire to go 
out upon the balcony and look over at the house 
opposite. She raised the blind that shielded her from 
the warm morning sun, and gazed upon the little cot- 
tage with its fresh green blinds. 

The window is still open ; behind it lies the corpse 
of Larouette, already stiff and cold. She cannot see 
it ; but what she can plainly discern is the desk with 
its open, gaping drawers, the overturned table, and, 
near the table, the upturned feet of a man. 

No one yet suspects that a murder has been com- 
mitted there, The dead man kept no domestics, his 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 2I 

work being done by an old woman who lives in the 
Rue de Versailles. It is she who will give the alarm 
when she arrives, a little later. 

Henriette hears Roger leave his chamber. He 
crosses the salon and knocks at his wife’s door. It 
has come then ; she must perforce meet him. For 
the last time she embraces Suzanne, kissing her with 
passionate force ; then she opens the door and admits 
Laroque, who enters smiling. 

He is not dressed in his last night’s costume. The 
traces which that bears of his struggle would be- 
tray him. He is all in black. . Roger Laroque is a 
tall man ; his physique evinces unusual strength, and 
Henriette stares shudderingly at his broad, mus- 
cular, workingman’s hands, those hands which a few 
hours since she had seen fall with deadly force upon 
the defenseless head of Larouette. One of them 
bears a deep, unhealed scratch, such as might have 
been inflicted by the pressure of human nails. 

Laroque is not in the least handsome, and his 
heavy figure, short neck, and brawny limbs disclaim 
any pretense to distinction. His complexion is bru- 
nette, and his head large and massive ; he has very 
dark eyes, which are soft and gentle, and beam with 
intelligence. His beard, which is quite unshaven, is 
jet black ; while his countenance is very expressive 
and sympathetic. It indicates a man of action, as his 
physique indicates a worker rather than a dreamer. 
His manner is brusque. This morning his leaden 
hue, heavy eyes, and seamed brow bespeak terrible 
exhaustion and preoccupation, which he vainly tries 
to conceal, 


22 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


He smiles affectionately at his wife, but it is ap- 
parent that the smile is forced, and, as he seizes her 
hands and draws her to him in order to kiss her, he 
^ays, in a gentle, tender tone : 

‘^You must have been anxious last night, dear 
heart, and I must ask your forgiveness. I am to 
blame ; I had important business which kept me very 
late, and which so engrossed me that I could not tele- 
graph — but — ” 

He paused in surprise. He had been about to 
press a kiss upon his wife’s brow, when she jerked 
her head violently aside, preventing his purpose. 
The action had been impulsive on Henriette’s part. 

What is the matter ? ” he asked, observing for the 
first time her troubled manner and singular pallor. 

Could she receive a kiss from fhis^man after what 
she had seen him do so recently? No, it was impos- 
sible. Her self-control was unequal to such a demand 
upon it — yet she must conceal her feelings. 

Nothing,” she replied hastily. Nothing is the 
matter. Why should you think there is ? ” And with 
her soul recoiling at the necessity, she received her 
husband’s caress. 

Thus reassured, he continued gayly : 

Last night when I returned, madame, I knocked 
at your door, but you did not respond ; you were 
asleep. Ah ! seven or eight years ago you would 
have sat up for me much later than that. Seven or 
eight years ago I was well beloved, while to-day — ! 
Who knows if I shall receive any love at all by 
and by ! ” 

How could this man talk carelessly of love at such 


T 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 23 

a time ! and she, how could she listen and respond 
to him ! 

He looked at her for some time, with a sad expres- 
sion in his dark eyes, and suddenly remarked : 

Henriette, to-day more than ever before in my 
life I need the assurance of your love, the assurance 
that you love me as much as' formerly and that you 
will ever continue to love me — no matter what 
happens.” 

“ No matter what happens ! ” He had suggested 
it himself. Ah ! How she wished that she might die 
then and there ! How dared he require of her soft 
assurances of love ! This murderer, whose hands, 
even yet, were scarce dry from his victim’s life- 
blood ! 

She remained silent ; her throat was so contracted 
that she could not articulate. How many times in 
the past year she had repeated “ I love you,” to this 
man ! How many tender scenes had been enacted 
between them ! 

Just as he was, with his quick, passionate nature, 
his dark, plain mechanic’s face — he had begun life 
as a common workman — she had adored, worshiped 
him. From what a height had she fallen, and into 
what depths of infamy had she been betrayed ! 

Why ! ” Roger repeated ; what has happened, 
Henriette, and what is the matter with you ? Are you 
ill ? You look pale and wan. Why do you turn from 
me ? Have I been so unfortunate as to grieve you 
unwittingly ? Or are you angry, perhaps, that I 
caused you so much anxiety last night ? Whatever it 
is, speak, I implore you.” 


24 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

Speak ! Yes, she felt that she was driven by 
necessity to do so. For a brief moment she gathered 
all her strength up, determined to confront him with 
the whole vile truth, to accuse him and banish him 
from her sight ; then her courage failed her. She 
dared not do it. 

Better far that he, miserable criminal that he was, 
should never suspect that his crime had been witnessed 
by them, his wife and child. Better appear to know 
nothing and thus be spared the shame of becoming 
his accomplice. Her daughter was close at hand and 
she felt the child’s grave look weighing her conduct. 

She had said to Suzanne, so that the child might 
not be brought as witness against her father, Re- 
member, you will have seen and heard nothing!” 
and now she seized the occasion to instruct her, by 
example, in the art of lying and deception. Half dead 
with horror and despair she summoned all her strength 
to murmur : 

“ Have you done anything to fojfeit my love ? Of 
course I love you ; why should you doubt it ? ” 

Such was the man’s preoccupation that he failed to 
notice how forced were the words and how shrinking 
was her manner. Contenting himself with this assur- 
ance, he hastened forward to where Suzanne sat, a 
silent spectator of the scene, poised on the edge of a 
chair. He lifted her into his arms, merrily, as he was 
in the habit of doing ; then, suddenly assuming the 
manner of a stranger : 

Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, “ I lay my respect- 
ful homage at your small feet. Dare I ask news of 
your health ? You look a trifle pale this morning, but 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 25 

I am aware that it is my fault. You should have 
retired earlier last night. Pardon me, mademoiselle ! 
Next cime I promise to be more punctual. But how 
serious you look ! Has naughty mamma been scold- 
ing you ? No ? Possibly you are indisposed ? No ; 
I should have heard of that before this. Ah, I know ! 
Mademoiselle may no longer laugh because — because, 
since five o’clock yesterday morning, mademoiselle 
has attained to the dignity of seven years. Made- 
moiselle has become a grand personage and comes the 
dignified with her papa. What ! I am not right yet ? 
Wait a moment. This time I am sure I have it ! 
Mademoiselle has doubtless something to say to me, 
and is rehearsing some pretty compliment in her little 
brain. Well, sweetheart, go on ; I am listening.” 

He deposited Suzanne upon the floor — for while he 
had been talking he had held her aloft, seated upon 
his broad shoulder. He waited patiently, but the 
child remained silent. 

Her eyelids were red and her look almost distraught, 
but Laroque saw nothing unusual about her. In fact 
he seemed blind to the change which had taken place 
in her. It may have been, however, that he was sim- 
ply acting a clever bit of dissimulation ; he woul'd not 
perceive anything. He urged her, still in the tone of 
tender jesting : 

“ Is it possible that mademoiselle has already for- 
gotten her lesson ? ” 

Henriette, standing behind Roger, made a sign to 
the child, who at once comprehended that she was to 
follow the example which her mother ha’d set her ; the 
example of falsehood and deception. She understood 


26 the shadow of ROGER LAROQDE. 

that it was incumbent upon her to speak. She had a 
vast amount of character for one of her age ; a strong 
nerve and a stout spirit for a mere baby. 

Slowly, with lowered lids and in a grave, serious 
voice that caused Roger to thrill with a sense of 
strangeness, she began : 

‘‘Papa, I have loved you for seven years — I love 
you as well as mamma — I know that you are devoting 
your life to my welfare, and sacrificing yourself that 
my future may be happy. But — papa, dear — I am 
never so happy as when you embrace me — I know that 
you are — good to me, and every day I love you — 
better — because each day I better appreciate how — 
good — you — are. If I cause you any trouble — ” 

But the task was beyond the child’s strength. She 
broke off abruptly, pressed her hands to her throat 
as if suffocating, raised her eyes and fastened them 
upon her father for a moment with a look of indescrib- 
able fear, and uttered a piercing, heartrending cry : 

“ Mamma, mamma ! ” 

The convulsions again took possession of her ; her 
eyes became fixed and her form stiff and rigid. Hen- 
riette caught her in her arms and supported her on a 
chair, while Roger sprinkled her face with water. 

“ Is she going to be ill ?” he demanded. “ I will 
go and send Victoire at once for the doctor.” 

“ It is unnecessary,” replied Henriette shortly, feel- 
ing that the doctor might suspect the cause of the 
attack. 

Laroque embraced both mother and child in a 
searching, suspicious look, while Henriette murmured 
to herself : 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 27 

‘‘Wretched being ! If he still preserves any affec- 
tion for us he must be suffering horribly ! ” 

As, by degrees, the little one regained conscious- 
ness, Roger began to think of departing, for it was his 
custom to take the ten minutes after nine train, every 
morning, for Paris. He bade them good-by — his 
jocularity had passed, and he had resumed his gravity 
of demeanor. 

“ I may not return until late,” he said ; “ don’t wait 
for me.” He paused a moment before his wife as if 
he wished to tell her something : then went out with- 
out adding a word. 

He had been gone scarcely half an hour, when peo- 
ple began to collect in front of the house opposite. 
The sound of their footsteps was plainly audible ; 
and soon a confused hum of voices arose. 

Mere Dondaine, the old woman of Ville d’Avray 
who took care of the little cottage, had presented 
herself as usual at the house that morning, and had 
been greatly surprised at finding all the doors un- 
locked. But she had said to herself that probably 
M. Larouette had risen earlier than usual and had 
gone out for a stroll in the neighborhood. 

Having swept and dusted the lower story, she went 
upstairs intending to arrange M. Larouette’s chamber. 
On its threshold she stopped short in terrified dismay, 
and stood, with bulging eyes, gazing at the scene within 
the room. 

The disordered desk, the overturned table and 
chairs, everything near the spot of action denoted a 
struggle ; while the blood-stained corpse of Larouette, 
with its wide staring eyes, rigid limbs, and wounded 


28 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

chest, pointed plainly to the fact of murder and not 
suicide. 

We must do justice to Mere Dondaine. The first 
shock of surprise over, she at once recovered her 
presence of mind. She hastened forward and ex- 
amined the body of her late master, assuring herself, 
beyond peradventure, that it was indeed only a corpse, 
and that all attempts at resuscitation would be vain. 
Having satisfied herself on this point, she left the 
house and hastened to the gendar?nerie^ spreading 
broadcast, as she went, the news of the terrible dis- 
covery she had made. 

The corporal-in-charge, after making a statement 
of the crime, at once telegraphed an announcement of 
it to the department of Seine-et-Oise. An hour later, 
M. Lacroix, the Commissary of Police of Versailles 
arrived, bringing with him Dr. Martinaud of Ville 
d’Avray, whom he had summoned, on the way, to 
make the necessary coroner’s investigations. 

The two men, accompanied by the old woman, 
entered the house, while momentarily the crowd with- 
out augmented its proportions. 

M. Lacroix, a little pink and white man, with faded 
blue eyes and spectacles, began a most searching 
interrogative investigation. The crime was self-evi- 
dent and the motive, robbery, was equally apparent. 
He questioned Mere Dondaine minutely, but the old 
woman was quite unable to furnish any information 
bearing upon the crime. She did M. Larouette’s 
housework every morning, leaving about eleven 
o’clock and not returning until the next day. 

According to her statement, Larouette was an old 


THE SHAEOtV OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

lunatic, reserved and avaricious to the last degree ; 
he had only lived at Ville d'Avray about a week, and 
from occasional words he had let fall she imagined he 
had speculated at the Bourse. He had been in the 
habit of leaving home every morning to return at 
dusk ; on Sunday only he had remained at home all 
day, when she had prepared his breakfast and dinner 
for him. 

‘‘ Do you know whether he had any large sum of 
money hidden in his desk ? ” asked M. Lacroix. 

I do not know, monsieur. He was not the man 
to take me into his confidence, or gossip about his 
affairs.” 

M. Lacroix began his search, during which Dr. 
Martinaud examined the body. Mere Dondaine re- 
ceived permission to retire, and the two men remained 
alone. The doctor then gave his opinion as follows : 

‘‘ The victim made an attempt to defend himself,” 
he said ; at first the assassin tried to strangle him, — 
for see, there are the marks upon his throat of the 
fingers of a strong man, — then, as he did not succumb 
readily, he was finished off with a pistol ; which proves 
that we have not to do with a common, vulgar as- 
sassin, but with a man who was in haste to finish his 
work, and who lost his head in his hurry, for a shot in 
the dead of night is a most imprudent act of folly. 
The cottage is not secluded, the Villa Montalais is 
directly opposite — a couple of paces off. If M. and 
Mme. Laroque or their domestics were not asleep 
they must surely have heard the report.” 

I will question them presently. Can you state at 
what hour of the night the crime was committed ? ” 


30 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

‘‘ Certainly and without the least doubt. Death 
supervened about ten hours ago ; therefore the crime 
was committed between eleven and half-past twelve 
o’clock. Besides this, the assassin used a pistol of 
small calibre, very probably a little pocket revolver. 
Here is the ball which I have extracted, and which 
penetrated the heart. Death must have been immedi- 
ate.” And he presented Lacroix with a small bit of 
shapeless lead. 

The commissary of police had made a packet of all 
the papers found in the desk, and which he proposed 
to examine at his leisure. 

We have nothing more to do here, at present,” he 
said finally, and went out, carefully closing the doors 
and leaving one of his officers in charge of the dwell- 
ing ; then, wending his way through the crowd of 
curious idlers, he crossed the street and entered Roger 
Laroque’s villa. 

It was Victoire who announced his coming to her 
mistress. Henriette turned as pale as death. Her 
terror and anxiety could not have been a whit more 
paralyzing if she, herself, had been the criminal. 

“ Great God ! ” she ejaculated ; “ can it be possi- 
ble that they suspect already ? ” and her heart sank 
within her at the thought. 

She entered the salon as if weighted with an in- 
visible burden, with drooping frame but an indomit- 
able spirit. 

The commissary of police accosted her, smilingly. 

‘‘ Pardon me, madame, for troubling you,” he said, 
politely, ‘‘ but last night a crime was committed in 
your neighborhood — at your very door, in fact. A 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 3I 

man was murdered — robbery appears to have been 
the motive of the crime — and I have come to ask you 
if you can furnish me with any information concern- 
ing the affair.” 

“ I, monsieur ! And what information should I be 
likely to possess, pray? I am even ignorant of the 
name of our neighbor, who, as you are probably 
aware, has only occupied the cottage a very few days. 
Will you be more explicit ? ” 

A pistol-shot was fired last night in the house 
opposite this. The window of the room in which the 
crime was committed having been open — it still re- 
mains so — it seemed very possible that either you or 
M. Laroque, or perhaps one of your servants might 
have been up, might have heard the report, have gone 
to the window, and perhaps have seen the murderer.” 

‘‘That is certainly very possible, monsieur. At 
what hour was the crime committed ?” 

“A little before midnight.” 

“ That would account for neither my husband nor 
I having heard it. I retired about ten o’clock, and 
my husband returned a little later. I did not see 
him.” 

“ M. Laroque is not at home?” ^ 

“ He went to Paris on the nine o’clock tram.” 

“If M. Laroque had heard anything suspicious he 
would doubtless have spoken of it to you this morn- 
ing?” 

“ I am sure he would, monsieur ; but he did not.” 

“You have, I believe, a little daughter about seven 
or eight years old ? Where does she sleep ? Might 
she not have been awakened by the report ? ” 


32 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


‘‘She slept last night in my bed and did not wake 
till morning.” 

She said this in so short and abrupt a manner that 
it surprised Lacroix. His penetrating glance rested 
a moment rather suspiciously upon the young wife. 
Involuntarily her eyes fell beneath his keen glance. 
It seemed to her that all the blood left her body 
through a huge, wound made in her heart. 

“May I see the little one?” asked Lacroix. 

“ Monsieur — ” stammered the wretched woman, 
“you may certainly — see — her — if you judge it nec- 
essary ; but— Suzanne is not well this morning — she 
is overfatigued, — and unless it is — really — really nec- 
essary — ” 

“Come, come ! ” murmured the commissary to him- 
self, “ she evidently does not want me to see the child ; 
what does this mean ? ” 

“ This morning,” Henriette continued deprecat- 
ingly, “ she had a severe nervous attack.” 

“ Is she subject to them ? ” 

“ No, this is the first ; and I fear the least excite- 
ment for her.” 

M. Lacroix bowed and was about to withdraw, 
when suddenly upon the threshold the child ap- 
peared. Coming forward, with her great eyes fixed 
upon her mother : 

“ No, mother,” she said, without waiting to be ques- 
tioned, “ I heard nothing. I slept all night without 
waking.” 

Tears sprang to Henriette’s e3^es, her heart seemed 
bursting, and she stifled a heavy sob in her throat. 
She stooped and kissed Suzanne. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


33 


Nothing remains but for me to examine your ser- 
vants, madame,” remarked the commissary. 

Mine. Laroque rang and Victoire appeared. 

“ Go, and bring the cook and coachman here,” 
ordered Mme. Laroque. A moment later the three 
servants entered. 

The cook and coachman had rooms looking upon the 
garden, and they both declared they had heard noth- 
ing. They had gone to bed at ten o’clock and slept 
soundly till morning. The first news they had heard 
of the murder was from the crowd outside. 

Lacroix motioned them to retire and they obeyed. 
Victoire was about to follow them when the commis- 
sary detained her. 

Excuse me, my girl,” he said ; one word with you.” 

She paused in some dismay. 

I wish to put to you, briefly, the same questions I 
asked your fellow-servants. At what hour did you 
retire last night ? ” 

Why, monsieur — ” Victoire stammered, ‘‘why — ” 

She gazed so persistently at her mistress that it was 
plainly apparent that she expected to receive some 
word or gesture from her. As if by chance, Lacroix 
placed himself between them. 

“Answer, my girl,” he said, “and don’t be afraid 
to speak the truth.” 

“ I went to bed late, monsieur,” she replied at 
length ; “ much later than usual. Madame must 
have told you.” 

“ Why were you up late yesterday, in particular ? ” 

“We were waiting for Monsieur, who did not return 
till after midnight.” 


34 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 


You didn’t wait up for him until then ? ” 

“Yes, almost till midnight — with Madame and 
Mademoiselle.” 

“ You mean till ten o’clock ? ” 

“ No, till midnight. At half-past eleven I was in 
Madame’s chamber ; she rang for me to undress Mile. 
Suzanne.” 

Lacroix knit his brow and looked thoughtful. 

“ You are sure of the time ? ” he insisted. 

“ Of course, monsieur, or I should not say so.” 

Here was a double contradiction which struck the 
officer. Why had Mine. Laroque asserted that she 
went to bed at ten o’clock, and why had she said that 
her husband returned a few moments later ? Both 
statements were false. What aim, what purpose had 
she in lying ? 

“ Well then,” he continued, “ at half-past eleven you 
were in Mine. Baroque’s chamber ; that was about 
the hour the murder was committed. A pistol-shot 
was fired ; did you not hear it ? ” 

“ Certainly. I even spoke of it to Madame. But 
Madame, although she was out on the balcony, did 
not hear it ; or at least, so she said.” 

“ And you did not run out ? You remarked nothing 
suspicious?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Is this all you have to tell me ? ” 

“ Yes, monsieur ; I know nothing further,” she 
said hesitatingly. 

“ Thank you. You may retire,” but as she was 
leaving he whispered a brief sentence in her ear. 
“ Be at the mairie in an hour ; I will wait for you.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQDE. 35 

He saw her face grow pale and troubled, and said 
to himself : 

She is lying. She does know more ; and I’ll 
make her speak.” 

When Victoire had departed, Lacroix assumed a 
smiling manner and turned to Henriette. 

I understand your repugnance to tell me the truth 
in this affair,” he said suavely, ‘‘ and I cannot blame 
you for having concealed it, so that you should not 
have to appear as witness in a court of assizes. Still, 
madame, the matter is a grave one and demands 
reflection on your part — ” 

Monsieur ! — ” 

‘‘ You mean to imply that I am speaking in terms 
that you do not understand ? No ; I am very clear 
and you comprehend me perfectly. You have said to 
yourself as follows : ‘ If I say nothing, justice will not 
require my testimony. I shall save myself much 
trouble and annoyance by keeping still.’ You are 
right, and if it were a trifling matter I should not in- 
sist ; but it is a case of murder.” 

“ Once more, monsieur — ” 

‘‘ Permit me, madame ; I have not yet finished. A 
moment since you pretended to have gone to bed at 
ten o’clock and to have fallen asleep immediately, — 
well, pardon me, madame, for I am going to be bru- 
tal — there you told a direct falsehood. At midnight 
you were still up — and your little girl as well.” 

I assure you, monsieur — ,” began Henriette, 
whose heart seemed bursting with despair. 

Do not deny it ; your maid is witness to the fact.” 

She is mistaken.” 


36 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

Are not you, rather ? Have not you really made 
an unintentional mistake ? ” insinuated Lacroix, ob- 
serving the young woman’s emotion. 

That is indeed possible,” she returned ; “ for I 
did not remark the hour particularly, and it may have 
been later than I thought.” 

Is it true that Victoire called your attention to 
the pistol-shot fired so near your windows?” 

“ I do not recall the fact.” 

And you still affirm that you heard nothing un- 
usual, notwithstanding the fact that, even at that late 
hour, you were on your balcony ? ” 

“ Monsieur,” said Henriette nervously, feeling that 
she was being pushed to the last extreme, “ permit 
me to remind you that you have questioned me now 
for a considerable length of time, and that you could 
not show more zeal and determination if I were an 
accomplice in the crime. You will pardon me if I 
beg you to remember that there are limits to my 
patience. I have told you all I know. Your ques- 
tions and insinuations insult and weary me. If you 
please, we will stop where we are.” 

“ I am trying to throw light upon this crime, ma- 
dame,” replied Lacroix apologetically, “ and to supply 
myself with all the testimony which may aid me in 
forming an opinion. You should not make a per- 
sonal matter of my insistence, and you will surely do 
me the justice to admit that I have not trespassed 
beyond the limits of the most profound respect. 
Since you desire it, madame, I will retire, especially 
as I have remarked, during the last few minutes, that 
you seem seriously disturbed,” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 37 

“I, monsieur? Not at all. I said I was tired, 
nothing more.” 

Quite so,” he agreed, after a silence which made 
Henriette tremble with alarm. “ It is possible, it is 
even probable, that at the inquest I shall be obliged 
to question you again ; I therefore beg you, in the 
interest of justice, and that the crime may be the 
more surely carried home to the real perpetrator, to 
rub up your memory. We all owe the truth to jus- 
tice, whatever it may be. No witness is capable of 
judging of the value of his testimony, and a slight 
clue, neglected as unimportant at first, has often led 
to the conviction of a murderer. You will remember 
this, I trust, madame, if I find it necessary to exam- 
ine you again.” He bowed coldly but respectfully, 
and withdrew. 

He had gone, and Henriette stood motionless and 
despairing in the salon. What should she do ? How 
act? By what means escape this constant menace 
with which the law threatened her ? For soon fresh 
questions would torment her. They would, perhaps, 
suspect her of having witnessed the crime ; they 
would force her to speak, and surround her with 
pitfalls. She must live in the midst of perpetual 
terrors. 

And, even if she were fortunate enough to avoid 
their traps and enact her part, could she expect the 
same of Suzanne ? If they insisted upon separating 
the child from her, could she expect her to be able to 
resist their menaces, prayers, and persuasions with 
her baby’s strength ? 

Suzanne was only a baby. She would hesitate, 


38 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

tremble, — even she, her mother, had trembled at the 
inquisition, — she would weep, aye, possibly she would 
speak. And to what end? Oh, horror! To accuse 
her father of murder ! 

But it was Victoire who would betray them — for 
was not she in the chamber at the time of the mur- 
der ? She had forgotten that ! Who knows what she 
might say? Ah! if she would but keep silent, she 
too ! Roger might then be saved ; and Suzanne and 
Henriette might lie with impunity! But how could 
she expect Victoire to hold her peace ? The girl had 
been only a couple of days in Mme. Baroque’s em- 
ploy, and could not be expected to feel any special 
affection for her mistress. Her devotion could not 
naturally be of sufficient strength to induce her to 
resist the threats and menaces of Lacroix. But if 
she could buy the girl’s silence! Yes, that at least 
was possible. She would give her all she owned. 
She would sell her dresses, her jewels ; she would 
promise her five, six, ten thousand francs for her 
silence. At any cost, Victoire must be hushed. And 
at once, while her excitement was at its height, she 
rang to summon the maid. 

Suzanne softly approached her mother. 

Mother,” she said, did you hear what I said 
just now?” 

Henriette kissed her passionately. 

“ Yes, my darling,” she answered, in a low tone, 

that is what you must always say. Remember what 
you have promised.” 

‘‘Oh, mother! Yes, I remember.” 

“ If men, strangers with hard faces and rough man- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 39 

ners, threaten and question you, you must never give 
way. You are not afraid ?’' 

No, mother ; I shall think of you.’* 

‘‘Your mother cannot promise to love you more 
than she does now, for that would be impossible, and 
her heart may break — ” 

Victoire did not come, and Henriette rang again 
more violently. 

The coachman answered the bell. 

“Where is Victoire?” asked Mme. Laroque. 

“ She went out, madame, to look at the house oppo- 
site, I suppose, and talk the affair over with some of 
the people in the street.” 

“ Go and find her ; I want her at once.” 

The man hastened to obey. Some moments passed 
before he returned, during which the condition of 
the poor wife was pitiable in the extreme. Her 
eyes looked wild and strained, like those of a mad 
woman. 

When the man came back he was alone. 

“It was just as I supposed,” he said. “Victoire 
was out there a few moments ago, looking at the 
house. I met some people who saw and spoke to 
her, but she has disappeared in the direction of 
Ville d’Avray. Madame has doubtless sent her on 
some errand.” 

“ No ! ” exclaimed Henriette. “ Go, go, hurry ! 
Bring her back to me ! Don’t lose a minute. Seek 
her in the village — she cannot have gone far.” 

The man went off to do her bidding. 

“ Ah, God is not with us ! ” cried Henriette dis- 
tractedly. 


40 THE SHADOW OF EOGER LA ROQUE. 

A half-hour passed away ; another, and still no 
Victoire. Henriette no longer dared seek her bal- 
cony, for now, whenever she approached the window, 
her eyes mechanically sought the spot in the little 
mahogany-furnished chamber where Larouette’s feet 
rested beneath the overturned table. 

The coachman returned for the second time. Hen- 
riette waited in breathless suspense for him to speak, 
for she was afraid to question him. As Victoire was 
not with him it followed that he had been unable to 
find her. And every moment that retarded her 
maid’s return crushed a throb of hope in Mme. La- 
roque’s breast. 

I did not bring Victoire back, madame,” the man 
said, at last, ‘^but I know where she is.” 

‘‘ Ah ! ” 

She was seen to enter the mairie., the department 
of the commissary of police, and — she must have had 
a good deal to say, for she went in there over an 
hour ago, and is still there.” 

Very well,” replied Henriette feebly. I will 
wait for her.” 

The coachman withdrew, and Henriette fell ner- 
vously into an arm-chair. Events were precipitat- 
ing themselves. A few hours only had elapsed since 
the murder, and already Roger appeared convicted. 
Now, for the first time, she wept. 

With her precocious intelligence suddenly and 
harshly developed by her terrible experience, Suz- 
anne at once sounded the depths of her mother’s 
grief. 

Mamma, mamma^ do not cry,” she said plead- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 41 

ingly ; ‘‘ I love you so dearly ! ” And climbing into 
Henriette’s lap she kissed her with infinite tenderness. 
But the mother’s grief only redoubled its intensity, 
and the large, hot tears fell one by one upon the inno- 
cent brow, like an ill-omened dew which would cause 
to germinate and flourish many noxious roots of suf- 
fering and sacrifice. 


CHAPTER 11. 


M LACROIX was at the mairie when Victoire 
• arrived. He, had just finished telegraphing 
to police headquarters at Versailles, and was now 
occupied in sifting the papers found at Larouette’s 
cottage for some clue as to the amount of the sum 
which had been stolen. Ah ! ” he said, as Victoire 
entered. I was waiting for you. Be seated.’’ 

Monsieur,” began the maid, in evident embarrass- 
ment, ‘‘ I don’t know why you wanted me to come 
here, for I have nothing to add to the deposition 
made in my mistress’s salon.” 

‘‘What! Absolutely nothing?” asked the officer 
jocosely. 

“ No, monsieur.” 

“ My good girl, I see that Mme. Laroque has set 
you a bad example by her silence, and let me tell you 
that you will do yourself injury by imitating it. You 
have got to tell me what you know, and all that you 
know, mind ; else, in case of your refusing — ” 

Victoire buried her face in her apron and began 
to sob. 

“ Else,” he concluded drily, “ I shall call in one of 
my gendarmes and take you to Versailles, where I 
will place you in the hands of the prosecuting officer 
of the State.” He rang, and a gendarme appeared. 
“ Be ready to conduct this woman to Versailles,” 
Lacroix said to him. 


42 


THE SHADOW OE ROGER LAROQUE. 43 

Victoire’s weeping grew louder. 

‘‘ Monsieur,” she begged, I beseech you, don’t let 
them hurt me ! ” 

Lacroix seized her hands and dragged them from 
her eyes, forcing her to look at him. 

See here,” he said, you would not be so afraid 
of the law if you hadn’t had some experience o.f it. 
How many times have you been convicted ? ” 

‘‘ Why, monsieur ! ” cried the girl indignantly, I 
have never been arrested in my life, and I have never 
appeared in court — not even as a witness.” 

“ Very well, then, I can assure you that you will 
have an opportunity to find out what a cell is like if 
you continue as you are doing.” 

Victoire wiped her eyes. 

“ Well, I will speak, then,” she said reluctantly, 
since I must.” 

Ah ! You are coming to your senses at last ! I 
am listening. Don’t hurry and don’t forget any- 
thing ; not even the smallest details.” 

“ You will promise that, whatever happens, no harm 
shall come to me ? ” 

“ I promise, and will agree to take you under my 
protection.” 

You see I shall assuredly lose my situation with 
Mme. Lar(j|que.” 

I will find you another.” 

All right ; then I will tell you all.” She rose and 
drew her chair close to the officer’s desk, and then 
began, in a very low voice : It was about half-past 
eleven o’clock last night ; I was still up. Madame 
had waited dinner for Monsieur until eight o’clock, 


44 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

and then, as he did not come, she dined without him, 
after which she and the little girl retired to her cham- 
ber. Usually the child goes to bed about nine o’clock, 
but last night — for some unknown reason — Madame 
kept her with her. At half-past eleven Madame rang 
for me, and I answered the bell. She and the child 
were out on the balcony, evidently looking for Mon- 
sieur. Madame had preferred not to have the lamp 
lighted as usual, as the night was so beautiful — the 
moonlight being superb. When I came in she ordered 
me to light the lamps, and at the same moment 
Suzanne leaned forward over the balcony and cried, 
‘ Father ! Father ! ’ She must have seen Monsieur, 
and so did Madame also, for I heard her say, ‘ Roger, 
why are you so late ? We have been so anxious.’ ” 
Lacroix was listening with the deepest attention. 
He busied himself during the recital in taking notes, 
that his gaze might not trouble Victoire. As she 
stopped he merely said, gently : 

Go on, my girl ; this can’t be all you have to 
tell ? ” 

No ; unhappily, no. Madame and Mademoiselle 
paid no heed to me, being intent upon watching M. 
Laroque in the street, while I went on with my work 
of lighting the night-lamp and opening the bed. All 
of a sudden Suzanne exclaimed, ^ Why, father is 
going into the neighbor’s .! ’ And, after two or three 
minutes’ silence, I approached Madame in order to 
ask if she had further need of me, when I stopped 
short — the sound of a pistol-shot fired just outside 
startled me — and Madame, with a terrible cry — a cry 
that I shall hear all my life, it was so heart-rending — 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 45 


rushed into the room exclaiming, ‘ Roger ! He ! Oh, 
it is horrible, horrible ! ’ ” 

M. Lacroix felt his hand shake. He put down his 
pen, and, in order to recover his coolness, began leis- 
urely to roll a cigarette. 

“I was so frightened, monsieur,” the girl went on, 

that I was going to leave the room, \vhen as I was 
about retiring 1 caught a glimpse of Madame, who, 
white as death and trembling like a leaf, had taken 
Suzanne into her arms and was hugging her with all 
her might, whispering into her ears as she kissed her. 
And Suzanne answered back.” - 

‘‘ What were they saying ? ” 

Ah, monsieur, I could not hear ! But they were 
both terribly upset ; so frightened that it made my 
blood run cold to look at them. And Madame had 
certainly forgotten my presence in the room, for 
when she noticed me I thought she was going to faint 
away.” 

“ This is certainly very strange,” muttered Lacroix, 
“and very serious.” 

“ You know the rest, monsieur ; I told you it at the 
villa when you questioned me. Madame pretended 
not to have heard the pistol-shot, and told me I was 
crazy. She sent me away at once.” 

Lacroix meditated a few monients in silence. His 
preoccupation was so great that he even forgot to 
light his cigarette, which he chewed absent-mindedly. 

“Was it much later when M. Laroque returned?” 
he asked, presently. 

“About a quarter of an hour.” 

“ Did he speak to his wife ?” 


46 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


No ; he went directly to his own room — but — ** 
she hesitated. 

‘‘Speak, girl ! Don’t omit the least thing.” 

“ M. Laroque did not go to bed all night.” 

“ Are you sure of this ? ” 

“ Oh, my ! Did I not see for myself when I went to 
do up his chamber ?” 

“ And Mme. Laroque ? ” 

“ I could swear that she didn’t go to bed either, 
although her bed was disarranged ; but it hadn’t the 
appearance of having been occupied, besides lack- 
ing the usual warmth of contact with the body. I 
naturally noticed these things after what I had seen 
and heard. I haven’t a doubt that Mme. Laroque 
rumpled up the bed in order that my suspicions 
should not be aroused. As to Suzanne, the j)Oor little 
thing looks so haggard and wan — Monsieur must have 
remarked it ! — that one might easily swear that she 
had not slept either. Now, monsieur, I have related 
everything, and you know as much as I about the 
matter. May I go ? ” 

“You may; but you must hold yourself ready to 
appear in court when summoned.” 

“ After all that has happened, after what I have 
told you, of course I cannot go back to my place. I 
shall go to the villa for my things and give warning to 
Madame, and while waiting for the place you have 
promised to get for me, I shall stay at my sister’s, 146 
Boulevard Ornano. You can take the address.” 

“ I can write to you there when I need you ? ” 

“ Yes ; and if I find myself a place, I will let you 
know.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 47 


The officer meditated a moment, and then said : 

Instead of going back to the villa, write a note to 
Mme. Laroque and say that you have left for good ; 
send a messenger for your trunk. I prefer that you 
should not see your late mistress again.” 

As you will, monsieur,” said the girl, and forth- 
with took leave of the officer. 

Diable ! ” Lacroix exclaimed, when she had gone. 
“ This affair promises to be interesting! ” And he 
set himself to reread the maid’s deposition, which he 
had carefully taken down, and which she had signed 
before her departure. Then, taking up the packet of 
papers found in the cottage, he went carefully and 
searchingly through them. 

This labor took two hours to accomplish. At the 
end of that time he had divided the papers into two 
parts ; one comprised a mass which had no bearing 
upon the subject ; the other was composed of only 
two letters, each of which contained but a few brief 
lines — but on reading these lines Lacroix could not 
control a cry of delight. 

They were dated eight and ten days back, and were 
both addressed to Larouette, who, according to their 
envelopes, then inhabited No. 17 Rue Saint Roch, 
Paris. The first ran as follows : 

“ Monsieur : 

“You are my creditor to the amount of 130,000 francs, deposited 
with me by your late maternal uncle, M. Celestin Vaubernon, 
whose heir you have just become. I cannot withhold from you, 
monsieur, the fact that the payment of so large a sum, just now, 
will seriously embarrass me ; and if you will be good enough to 
do me the favor of calling at my office. Rue St. Maur, I will 
explain to you the precise nature of this embarrassment. 

‘ ‘ Accept, monsieur, my most distinguished consideration. 

“ Roger Laroque.’" 


4 ^ THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

The other was brief, and pathetic in its despair ; 

Monsieur : 

“ You exact it, and it is simply your right to do so. If you will 
call at Rue St. Maur you may receive the 130,000 francs, plus the 
interest which I have paid for years. For me, the payment of this 
sum means certain ruin, failure, and dishonor. 

“ Faithfully yours, 

Roger Laroque.*’ 

M. Lacroix had formed his conviction : it was, — at 
least the proofs seemed convincing, — it was Roger 
Laroque who had committed the murder ! And — 
horrible thought, which touched the heart of even 
the phlegmatic commissary — the witnesses to the act 
were no lesser persons than the wife and daughter of 
the murderer. This fact seemed fully demonstrated. 

As to the assassin’s motive, was it not plainly legi- 
ble in these two communications whose formidable 
lines seemed like accusing angels of vengeance ? 
Laroque had reimbursed Larouette, but in order to 
save himself from ruin and failure, he had conceived 
this plan of theft and murder. 

Lacroix lost no time in idle speculations ; nor were 
any necessary. The affair was as simple as the 
alphabet. It-' was necessary to act quickly and ener- 
getically. He must prevent Laroque from disposing 
of the sum he had stolen. 

Lacroix at once set out for Paris, where he pre- 
sented himself at the Prefecture. There he was 
intrusted with two skillful agents, Tristot and Pivolot, 
who, though not really attached to the service, yet 
rendered it very frequent and efficient help. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 49 

Lacroix instructed them in the affair, and charged 
them with the surveillance of Roger, as well as the 
task of discovery how he had employed himself dur- 
ing the day and evening of the . crime. Then he re- 
turned as quickly as possible to the Saint-Lazare 
station and took a ticket for Versailles, whither he 
hastened to report to the prosecuting attorney and the 
head of the department. 

Having rid himself of these duties he shut himself 
into his office in order to arrange, in his own mind, 
the investigation to which, on the following day, he 
intended to subject the inmates of the Villa Montalais. 

Meantime what was taking place at the villa ? 

Henriette had been in mortal agony all the morning. 
Her blood was burning with fever. Momentarily she 
expected to receive news of Roger’s arrest. Victoire 
must have spoken. What had she said ? Assuredly 
the most compromising things, since she feared to 
reappear before her mistress. 

Completely prostrated and unnerved, broken and 
spent in body and spirit by the suffering of this horri- 
ble night and day, Henriette had remained closeted 
in her own room with her little daughter — both, as 
during the night, pressed close to each other’s heart, 
silent, haggard, trembling, and spectral, with heavy 
lines and shadows encircling their sunken, terrified 
eyes. 

As on the previous day, Roger failed to return at 
the usual hour. Evening came, and the hours rolled 
by. The windows of the villa were closed tight. 

The moon shone brightly in the clear, blue sky, but 
neither Henriette nor Suzanne dared venture upon 


so THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 

t}ie balcony ; for, had they cared to look out into 
the night, they would surely have seen, in the lit- 
tle mahogany-furnished chamber opposite, the dark, 
dreadful face of a spectral murderer, with clinched 
fists lifted above his victim’s head. 

That they might not be confronted with this ghastly 
tableau, they remained all day in the further side of 
the'chamber, shivering with horror as night came on, 
terrified by the utter stillness, cowering together, and 
occasionally embracing each other with a desperate 
passion, which was the outcome of their agonized 
despair. 

About one in the morning Roger returned. As on 
the previous night, he came to his wife’s door and lis- 
tened, then tiptoed off softly, and shut himself into his 
own room. 

But the stillness was so intense in this retired spot, 
so profound in this isolated dwelling that, through 
the closed doors, Henriette and Suzanne could plainly 
hear him whistling, as he undressed, the strain of a 
song he had once taught Suzanne. 

And so this second night passed like the other. 
Suzanne, however, was so completely exhausted that 
she finally fell asleep in her mother’s bed ; but Hen- 
riette never dreamed of retiring. She remained wide 
awake, listening to the loud beating of her heart ; her 
staring, aching eyes constantly occupied with a 
rehearsal of that terrible vision. And the rising sun 
found her sitting just as she had been when it set. 

Toward seven o’clock she heard her husband 
stirring in his chamber. He had slept, he ! No 
remorse, no nightmares or phantoms had probably 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 5 1 

troubled his slumber, for he had waked gayly, as he 
still hummed Suzanne’s little song. 

What monster was this she had married ? What 
manner of man was he who, in the very face of his 
crime, could so quickly regain his equilibrium as to 
have become already indifferent to it ! He sang 
indeed as if the bright morning sun, which bathed the 
villa in a golden bath, had brought joy and hope to 
his soul. He had thrown his window wide and sang 
loud and merrily while he dressed ; and Suzanne, 
who had waked, listened, as she lay in bed, to the gay 
little song her father had taught her, and which now 
brought hot tears to her eyes. 

“ Wandering through the woodlands, 

I heard the gay birds singing, 

Their merry notes out-ringing, 

‘ Coucou ! Coucou ! ’ 

But I thought that they were singing 
‘ Choke you ! Choke you ! ’ 

And, wild with fear, I fled.” 

Presently Roger crossed the salon and knocked at 
the door. 

Come in ! ” said Henriette, feebly. 

Roger entered with a bright smile on his lips, but 
paused in surprise at seeing his wife up and dressed. 

“Up already!” he exclaimed. “It is not eight 
o’clock yet.” 

“ It is so fine that I thought I would take Suzanne 
out for a walk.” 

“ Ah, how fortunate you are to be able to do so ; 
and how I wish I might accompany you ! ” 

Henriette suffered him to embrace her. Then, as 


52 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


he spied Suzanne, whose frightened look seemed in- 
comprehensible to him, he cried, “ How’s this, made- 
moiselle ! In mamma’s bed again to-day ! You are 
getting spoiled. I cannot allow such liberties.” 
And seating himself on the bed, he took the little girl 
in his arms, clad in her tiny, white night dress, and 
began to sing : 

‘ ‘ Passing by a church-door, 

I heard the choir-boys singing 
Their holy praise, beginning, 

‘ Te Deum ! Te Deum ! ’ 

But I thought that they were singing 
‘ Catch him ! Catch him ! ’ 

And, wild with fear, I fled.’" 

The child had not opened her lips. Her eyes were 
so strangely set that she looked as if she had lost her 
reason. Generally she laughed merrily when she 
heard this rondeau. 

Her father kissed her full on the lips, and they 
quivered beneath the caress. 

Now, Mademoiselle, sing the third verse your- 
self ! ” 

With downcast lids and heavy, lifeless voice she 
sang as follows : 

‘ ‘ Straying ’mongst the meadows, 

I heard the reapers chanting. 

Their blest condition vaunting ; 

‘ We know no grief ! ’ 

But I thought that they were chanting, 

‘ We know the thief ! ’ 

And, wild with fear, I fled.” 

‘^You haven’t waked up yet,” laughed Roger, as 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 53 

she finished ; you look sleepy still. There, go to 
sleep again, mademoiselle ! ” and he replaced* her 
tenderly in the bed, after giving her another kiss. 
^‘By the way,” he said, in an indifferent tone, “ have 
they discovered any clew to our neighbor’s murderer ? 
Do they suspect any one in particular ?” 

‘‘ I do not know. The commissary of police was 
here yesterday, to examine us.” 

“ You ! ” exclaimed Laroque, in surprise. 

“ Yes ; my child, my servants, and myself.” 

“ For what reason, pray ? ” 

Because, as a pistol-shot was fired during the 
night in our immediate neighborhood, they supposed 
that we might have heard it, that we might have 
got up, and seen — ” 

That is so.” 

‘‘ But you, Roger,” she inquired tremulously, ‘‘ how 
did you know of this murder, as you left home early 
yesterday morning, before it was discovered ? ” 

“ I heard of it last night at the station. The sta- 
tion-master told me all he knew about it, which was 
not much. He did not even know the name — ” 

Our neighbor .was a small broker named La- 
rouette.” 

Roger Laroque turned quickly at this name, and 
grew very pale. 

“ What did you say the man was called ? ” he asked 
abruptly. 

Larouette. I discovered it yesterday morning.” 

“ How singular ! ” Roger murmured. He remained 
silent a moment, then asked, Does any one know 
the motive of the murder ? ” 


54 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

Theft, doubtless,’' Henriette replied, looking her 
husband full in the face. 

But he paid no heed to her strange emotion. He 
bit his lips and appeared to be a prey to the liveliest 
preoccupation. At last he took up his hat and cane, 
and prepared to depart. 

Excuse me,” he said, I must go ; I don’t want to 
lose the train.” Henriette said nothing, but she felt 
like crying out : 

“ Fly ! Quit France ! You cannot escape the law ! 
Never terrify me again by appearing before me ! 
Refrain from soiling the pure brow of my child with 
your assassin’s kisses ! ” 

Instead of going directly to the station, Roger 
turned off toward the mairie. He sent in his card to 
the commissary, who had returned from Versailles, 
and with whom, he told the officer who admitted him, 
he had particular and important business. 

He was introduced to Lacroix, who, without speak- 
ing, motioned him to a seat. The commissary’s heart 
quickened its beat. What had Roger Laroque come 
here for? What audacious plan had been conceived 
by this man, whom he firmly believed 'to be Larouette’s 
murderer ? He suspected a trap, and was on his 
guard. 

Monsieur,” began Roger, I have come to give 
you what I think may prove very useful information 
regarding the crime which has just been committed so 
close to me. I have just learned the name of the vic- 
tim, and I have come for the purpose of informing 
you that day before yesterday I was called upon to 
pay the sun) of 130,000 francs to a man named 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 55 


Larouette. It is a singular coincidence, except that 
my creditor lived in Paris, Rue Saint Roch — at least, 
he had apartments there. As the payment was ex- 
ceedingly inconvenient to me just at this time, I had 
frequent interviews with Larouette in the attempt to 
effect a postponement, in the interest of my house. I 
should be able to identify my creditor, and, if you 
like, I can test — ” 

Lacroix interrupted him with great suavity. 

‘‘ The identification will be unnecessary, M. La- 
roque. The murdered Larouette is the same to whom 
you paid over the sum of 130,000 francs, plus the 
interest.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ I found among his papers your letters concerning 
the payment. Nevertheless, I thank you sincerely for 
your call and for the information you have given in 
the interests of justice. Will you permit me to put a 
few questions to you, monsieur, before you leave ? 
Did Larouette avail himself of the services of any 
intermediary in receiving this money ? ” 

“ No ; he came alone, and saw no one but me.” 

Do you know anything about his life, his connec- 
tions, and habits ? ” 

“ No ; fifteen days ago he was a complete stranger 
to me. As you have doubtless learned, through one 
of the letters of which you speak, this sum had been 
deposited with me' by an old friend of my father’s, 
Celestin Vaubernon, Larouette’s maternal uncle, who 
died three weeks ago. All that I know about it is 
that M. Vaubernon was not fond of his nephew — 
why, I do not know. They never saw each other. 


56 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

Judging by my short acquaintance with Larouette, 
relations with him of any sort could not have been 
very agreeable. I found him hard, merciless, unpre- 
possessing, and — very ill-mannered.” 

‘‘ You will be able, I presume, to give us a list of the 
numbers of the notes and the amount of the gold which 
composed the payment you made Larouette. You 
will readily understand that such a list would be of 
the last importance to us.” 

Behind their spectacles the blue eyes of Lacroix 
penetrated with a keen, sharp glance into the very 
heart of Laroque. But the latter preserved his self- 
possession ; not an eyelash quivered. 

‘‘ I will speak to my cashier,” he said, who alone 
is able to furnish you with these details.” 

He rose to go. Train time was approaching. The 
two men saluted each other courteously. As Laroque 
went out Lacroix watched his departure from the 
open window of his office. 

My good fellow,” he remarked, as he gazed after 
the retreating form, you are pretty clever, but you 
come a trifle too close to the flame. It will burn you 
yet ! ” 

He took a printed summons from his portfolio, 
filled in the blanks, wrote down the time of the inves- 
tigation, the name of Mme. Laroque, and added the 
following postscript : 

‘‘ You will be good enough to bring Mile. Suzanne.” 

He then slipped the form into an envelope and sent 
it to the villa. 

Henriette read it shudderingly. Every trifle was a 
cause of terror to the poor woman now. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 57 

The brief legal summons was couched in the fol- 
lowing terms : 

“ You are required to present yourself at the mairie . 
at the office of the commissary of police of Versailles, 
on a matter which concerns you.” 

Nothing more. But was not this sufficient to re- 
kindle her agonized apprehensions? What did M. 
Lacroix want ? To question her ! To question Su- 
zanne ! Doubtless Victoire had spoken. What could 
she do to defend herself? She revolted against the 
insistence of the commissary. A sort of icy rage 
against this man, whose inquisitive and penetrating 
look haunted her, took forcible possession of her. 

Leaving Suzanne at home, she put on her hat and 
went out. Lacroix was alone when she arrived at the 
office. 

I am here, monsieur,” she said boldly. ‘‘ You 
wished to see me ? ” 

Yes ; but I also desired you to bring your daugh- 
ter with you.” 

Suzanne is ill ... . besides, she is only a child. 
What have you to say to me, monsieur ? How can I 
serve you ? ” 

‘‘You shall soon know, madame,” replied Lacroix, 
pushing an arm-chair toward her. “ Of course, as 
you have probably imagined, my wish to see you is 
connected with the murder of Larouette. I desire, 
madame, that you should tell me the truth, and the 
whole truth, about this murder ; no reservations or 
evasions, if you please.” 


5 ^ THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 


I have nothing to add to my deposition of yester- 
day/’ 

Lacroix looked her full in the face and said, 
shortly ; 

You are lying, madame.” 

“ Monsieur ! ” she cried, rising tremulously. 

He made a soothing gesture, but, at the same time, 
repeated coldly, “You are lying, I am sure of it — in 
fact, I have the proof of it.” 

The fight had begun; she fully understood that, and 
she felt overpowered by a conviction of her helpless- 
ness. Her heart failed her despite her resolution. 

“ I will repeat to you briefly,” went on the com- 
missary, “ what you told me when I called upon you, 
in search of information.” 

“ It is quite unnecessary, monsieur ; I remember 
perfectly, and I have nothing to add or to retract from 
what I said.” 

“ We will see about that later. Yesterday you 
declared that you had heard nothing, absolutely noth- 
ing, and that you had seen nothing either ; that, in 
fact, you v/ent to sleep at ten o’clock.” 

“ It may possibly have been a little later ; I am not 
positive.” 

“ Very much later. I might as well tell you at 
once that your maid has concealed nothing of what 
took place. At eleven o’clock you were still awaiting 
your husband on the balcony, and, which is rather 
strange, your little daughter was with you, although 
ordinarily she retires at a much earlier hour.” 

“ I did remain somewhat late on the balcony ; it is 
true.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 59 

“ While you were out there, this is what happened 
and what you witnessed : A man came down the street. 
Your child recognized her father and called out to 
him. ‘Father! Father !’ she cried. You also rec- 
ognized him, for, leaning forward, you addressed him 
and reproached him with being so late and causing 
you so much anxiety.” 

“ It is false ! ” 

“ Here are your very words : ‘ Roger, why are you 
so late ? We have been so anxious about you — ’ And 
this is not all. Suzanne cried besides : ‘ There is 
papa going into the neighbor’s.’ A little later, 
scarcely a minute after, a pistol-shot was heard in the 
house — which is only separated from yours by the 
width of a narrow street — whereupon you rushed into 
your chamber crying, ‘ Roger ! He ! It is horrible, 
horrible ! ’ ” 

“ All of this, monsieur, is simply a tissue of mon- 
strous lies, and Victoire must surely be crazy — ” 

“ That was indeed what you told her when she 
asked if you had heard the pistol-shot.” 

At all events,” Mme. Laroque exclaimed, ner- 
vously and hotly, ‘‘ you cannot oblige me to testify to 
what I never witnessed ! ” 

“ No, madame ; that I certainly cannot do. The 
deposition which you have made is useless, save as a 
mere report ; for the law forbids me to employ as 
witness any one who stands in the relation of father, 
mother, wife, or child of him whom I strongly suspect 
of being the guilty party.” 

“ My husband ? ” 

“ You are right, madame ; your husband.” 


6o THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

“Ah, monsieur, now you, in your turn, are crazy ! 
Think a moment of the disgrace of such an accusation. 
It is even void of common sense. I am quite at rest 
on that score. No one in the world will credit that 
statement.” 

“ Unfortunately, madame, this accusation is based 
on the strongest suspicions which, before night, I am 
sure will become irrefutable proofs. Even now your 
husband must be undergoing a preliminary examina- 
tion in his office. Rue Saint Maur. He is in the 
hands of the law and will be obliged to defend him- 
self.” 

“ Arrested ? Roger ! My husband ! My God ! 
my God ! ” 

She did not weep ; her eyes were dry, though seared 
and red. During the past two days she had experi- 
enced alb the most intense emotions, and she had so 
fully anticipated this fatal denouement, that she was, in 
a measure, prepared for it, and was enabled imme- 
diately to regain her composure. 

The commissary divined this singular condition of 
her mind. He bowed his head and said, with a visibly 
softened manner : 

“You must suffer terribly, madame; and I am 
loath to insist further. I pity you sincerely.” 

She raised her head with an air of bravado. 

“ Your pity is wasted upon me, monsieur, and you 
are wrong in imagining that I suffer. Why should I, 
pray ? I am shocked and grieved at the mistake you 
have committed in arresting my husband, but I am 
quite easy regarding his fate, for I know he will have 
no difficulty in clearing himself.” 


The shado w of roger laroque. 6 i 

That is your opinion ? So much the better. I will 
even admit that it is simply your duty to say as much.” 

‘‘ Very well then, monsieur, why do you subject me 
to this interrogation ? ” 

“ You shall know. Let me recapitulate the testi- 
mony of your maid : You were on the balcony; you 
"and your child witnessed the murder ; your terror 
was such that you could not go to bed — your bed was 
disarranged, but merely by your own hands the next 
morning. Victoire affirms that such was the case. 
You will at least recall this detail? ” 

It is false, like the rest.” 

You were not the only one who remained up all 
night ; Victoire asserts that M. Laroque did not retire 
either. Your husband did not even imitate your pre- 
cautions, by pulling his bed to pieces.” 

My husband has many business cares ; his work- 
shops occupy all his time. He is constantly studying 
to improve and simplify his machines, and these 
inventions absorb him so exclusively that he often 
passes the whole night pondering upon his plans and 
designs, recollecting neither the hour nor his own 
weariness. This has occurred hundreds of times, 
monsieur.” 

“ That is quite possible, I admit. But you must 
acknowledge that it is a singular coincidence that 
neither of you should have gone to bed that night.” 

I repeat to you, monsieur, that I did go to bed.” 

The commissary shrugged his shoulders. 

“"Everything goes to convince me, madame, that, 
despite yourself, you were an innocent and involun- 
tary witness of Larouette’s murder.” 


62 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

“ I repeat, monsieur, that it is absurd ; and I swear 
to you — " 

“ Alas ! madame* you can only reply by simple 
denials to the exceedingly clear and lucid statements 
of your maid. Instead of denying — which is so easy a 
proceeding — why not explain the words that fell from 
your lips, your terror, and the exclamations of horror 
that forced themselves from you ? Do you not see 
that your very denials, even your very silence itself, 
are more implicating to your husband than an alleged 
accusation ? A moment since, when I remarked that 
it was simply your duty to your husband to speak as 
you did, you asked me, why, then, I questioned you. 
And this is why : you have been witness to a crime, 
and of this crime I am convinced that your husband 
is the perpetrator. But, having seen all, you refuse 
to speak. Do you not see, pray, that this very refusal 
is tantamount to an acknowledgment of the assassin’s 
name ? What other motive could restrain you than 
that of implicating your husband ? You witnessed 
the crime. Very well ! If the perpetrator were not 
Roger Laroque you would long ago, and without my 
insistence, have placed at my disposal all the informa- 
tion which I have been obliged to beg of you in vain. 
I expected your silence, and it is your husband’s con- 
demnation.” 

He was right. His reasoning was the simplest logic. 
She was placed in a horrible and inextricable position. 
Either she must speak and accuse Roger, or else she 
must remain silent and still condemn him. No escape ! 
No possible loop-hole of safety ! This man held her 
securely trapped and tortured her at his ease. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 63 

“ There is still more/' said Lacroix, pitilessly pur- 
suing his deductions. “Your husband inspires you 
with terror, but your compassion for him is quickened 
by the memory of your former love. You pity and 
would save him, because, at any cost, you would save 
your child the disgrace of having a murderer for her 
father. Very well ! What can you do ? You re- 
fute the evidence by pretending to your maid that you 
did not hear the pistol-shot, and you even endeavor, 
by a subterfuge whose absurdity is explained by your 
terrible despair, to create an alibi for Roger Laroque.” 

Henriette answered him with the same determined 
obstinacy, bent upon denial, notwithstanding all. 

“ My husband’s past testifies to his honor. An 
honest man does not become an assassin in a day, 
without pretty strong motives. You may accuse, 
arrest, and traduce him in the Court of Assizes, but no 
one will believe you. You will never find a jury to 
convict him.” 

“ ‘ Without strong motives’, you say. Are you 
aware of your husband’s financial condition ? ” 

“Certainly. While we are not wealthy, we are in a 
position to live liberally, without any serious anxiety 
concerning the future.” 

“ Undeceive yourself, madame. For the past two 
days M. Laroque has been on the verge of failure. 
It is most unlikely that your husband has not confided 
to you the fact of his financial embarassment.” 

“ So unlikely, monsieur, that I cannot give such a 
report credence. My husband places the greatest 
confidence in me. He loved — he loves me, and he 
has never spoken to me of it.” 


64 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQVE, 

‘‘ Did he not tell you of a very large payment that 
he has been forced to make at short notice ? 

“ No.” 

“ Then you see he had secrets from you. Even 
then, doubtless, he had planned his crime and was 
bent upon surrounding it with all possible precau- 
tions. Had he spoken to you of the payment of this 
amount, which could not have been less than 140,000 
francs, you would more easily have understood the 
embarrassment of his affairs ; and if I were to tell 
you to whom this sum was paid you might, perhaps^ 
hesitate longer to defend him.” 

She dared not divine his meaning. Yet, what was 
one proof more after what she had seen with her own 
eyes ! This interview was wearing terribly upon 
her. She had taken out her handkerchief, and 
kept wiping her brow and hands with it ; a brilliant 
color burned in her cheeks ; her lips were dry and 
feverish, and she constantly moistened them with her 
tongue. 

She did not reply to Lacroix. She was searching 
her dazed, aching brain for some fresh refutation, 
some supreme argument ; but none was forthcoming. 

You do not ask me the name of this creditor,” said 
Lacroix mercilessly ; ‘‘yet I will tell you, all the same. 
Your husband’s creditor was none other than Laro- 
uette, and it was on the very night of the day upon 
which the payment was made that Larouette was mur- 
dered. Need I offer you further proof ? No, madame; 
I suffe/ deeply in witnessing your agony, and yet I am 
obliged to torture you further. It will be necessary 
for me to visit your house in order to make a strict 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 65 

examination, and I shall be obliged, in your presence, 
to question and probe your daughter Suzanne.’' 

She made a gesture of despair, but remained silent. 
She could do no more ; her strength had quite van- 
ished ; she felt as though she were choking. She fell 
back in the chair in which she was sitting and closed 
her eyes. 

Poor woman ! ” murmured Lacroix, moved to 
deep sympathy. It was the future, even more than 
the present, that he compassionated. 


CHAPTER III. 


S UZANNE usually passed her mornings out of 
doors in the merry sunshine, chasing the butter- 
flies in the garden, culling bouquets for the dining- 
room, and helping the coachman — who was also the 
gardener — to cultivate flowers, salads, and strawberry 
beds. 

She was all over the place, her pretty face flu-shed 
with the heat, her eyes sparkling with happiness, her 
hair tossed loosely about her head, and her little 
straw hat hanging down her back, suspended around 
her neck by its blue ribbons. She was the life and 
joy of the whole house, which resounded with her 
merry chatter and gay singing. 

Now that those happy tones were hushed, mourn- 
ing and desolation seemed to have fallen upon the 
villa, and, as two days had passed during which she 
had paid no visit to the garden, the flowers seemed 
sad and drooping. She cared only to remain in her 
mother’s chamber, having lost all interest in her dolls, 
toys, and piano lessons. 

Henriette ordinarily required her to read and write, 
sew and embroider, morning and evening, the rest of 
the day being allotted to amusement, but during the 
two days which had so altered the aspect of her whole 
life the poor mother had given no thought to these, 
her maternal duties ; while the little, terror-stricken 
66 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 67 

child was too nervous and restless to apply herself to 
anything. 

Lacroix returned to the villa with Henriette, and 
when they entered the salon she turned to him sud- 
denly. 

‘‘ So ! ” she exclaimed. You wish to see and 
question Suzanne?’' 

“ I must do so,” he replied. ‘‘ In the interests of 
justice I am bound to discover the truth.” 

But can’t you see that, if as is most improbable, 
my husband were guilty, what you mean to do is a most 
horrible thing? You are endeavoring to make a 
daughter, a baby, accuse her father ! ” 

“ Not at all. Understand that I am simply deter- 
mined to discover the truth wherever I may be able 
find it. I shall be only too happy to prove M. Laroque 
innocent, and if I examine the child it is not in the 
desire — which would be, as you say, a most horrible 
affair — to make her accuse her father, but in the hope 
that her testimony may exonerate him.” 

‘‘ Suzanne is delicate, nervous, exceedingly impres- 
sionable. She has never been strong. Spare her this 
cruel ordeal.” 

“ I promise to make it as light as possible.” 

Utterly discouraged, Mme. Laroque bowed her 
head and slowly left the room. 

Suzanne was in her mother’s chamber, and had 
overheard all. She held out her arms to Henriette 
as the latter entered, and the mother caught her to 
her breast in a convulsive embrace. As Henriette 
covered the child’s face with passionate kisses, she 
repeated in her ear, “ Remember ! remember ! ” 


68 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 


They went back to the salon together. 

Go, dear,” said Henriette, motioning Suzanne 
toward the commissary. Go to this gentleman, who 
wishes to talk to you, and answer what he asks you, as 
well as you can.” 

The child advanced fearlessly, and took up her 
position between M. Lacroix’s knees. The commis- 
sary put his arm around her and kissed her on the 
brow. 

“ She wont tell anything,” he muttered to himself. 
‘‘ She has learned her lesson well ; ” and, tapping her 
playfully on the cheek, he said gently : 

Do you remember what you were doing night 
before last, little one ? ” 

The child reflected a moment. She was very pale 
and seemed to be greatly exhausted, but her manner 
betrayed neither fear nor irresolution. 

Yes, monsieur,” she replied, in a firm tone, I 
remember perfectly well.” 

And will you tell me ? ” 

I played quite late in the garden ; I cut some 
flowers and picked some strawberries ; and then I 
made up a great bouquet of roses for the dining-room 
table. I also played with a big doll that mamma had 
given me that morning, because it was my birthday. 
I was seven years old day before yesterday, monsieur. 
I undressed my doll, and mamma and I made her 
a beautiful blue satin dress ; I also made her a hat. 
That is all, monsieur.” 

But during the evening, my child. Later on, I 
mean ? ” 

I did not do anything. I stayed with mamma, 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 69 


who made me repeat my speech of welcome to papa. 
But I did not say it till the next day, because papa 
did not come home till late — and I had gone to bed, 
in mamma’s room, before he came.” 

You have forgotten a good many things.” 

Perhaps so. What were they, monsieur ? ” 

“ You went to bed very late, much later than usual.” 

‘‘ That is true — but I did not go to sleep.” 

“ Do you know what time it was ? ” 

“ I don’t know, monsieur ; but perhaps mother can 
tell you.” 

But before you went to bed, were you not out on 
the balcony ? ” 

‘‘ With mamma ; yes, monsieur.” 

And from the balcony what did you see and hear 
in the street ? ” 

Nothing.” 

“ Didn’t you see a man, your father whom you 
were expecting ? ” 

Suzanne’s voice trembled a little as she replied. 

No, monsieur ; I don’t know what you mean.” 

‘‘ Don’t you remember, my child, that you clapped 
your hands and called out to him, because you were 
so glad to see him ? You know that you said to your 
mother, ‘ There is father, going into the neighbor’s,’ 
and a moment later you heard the pistol-shot — bang ! 
How it must have frightened you ! Come, tell me 
the truth, little one.” 

But, monsieur, I don’t remember having said all 
that.” 

You are telling a lie, and it is wrong to lie ; you 
must have been taught that. When you were little and 


70 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

told stories you were punished ; well now, if I tell 
your mother to punish you — to shut you up all alone 
in a dark closet — ” 

Mother never punishes me, unless I deserve it, 
monsieur.” 

And the brave child cast an infinitely tender glance 
at her mother. 

Lacroix rose and took a turn up and down the room, 
setting his glasses more comfortably on his nose. 
Despite himself he was moved by this strange and 
dramatic examination — the only one of its kind that 
had ever come within his experience. If, naturally, 
a little disappointment were mingled with his emotions, 
it was outweighed by a surprised admiration for this 
fragile, delicate child, for the resolute determination 
which he combated but could not conquer. 

What a woman she would become, this baby! And 
what a mother was hers — a worthy claimant of the 
title ! 

Henriette was sitting near the window. Lacroix 
turned his back to her, and as he had taken the child 
in his lap, Suzanne, while answering his questions, 
could look at her mother. 

The latter devoured her child with an anxious gaze. 
She felt that she was living her whole life out in these 
few moments. Existence is hastily consumed by such 
experiences. She listened to Suzanne’s responses 
breathlessly, smothering her loud heart-beats with her 
clasped hands. 

And the sunshine flooded the room, forcing its way 
in through the half-drawn persiennes. And the birds 
sang gayly without, conversing melodiously with each 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 11 

Other in the chestnut-trees which surrounded Laro- 
uette’s still, melancholy cottage opposite. 

‘‘Madame,” said Lacroix suddenly, “I shall be 
much obliged to you if you will leave me alone with 
your daughter a few moments.” 

“ What, monsieur ! You really mean it ? ” 

“ Yes, madame ; the door of your chamber is open 
and you can overhear whatever takes place between 
us.” 

She rose, trembling. As she passed Suzanne she 
leaned down and kissed her, at the same time 
murmuring her oft-repeated charge, “ Remember ! ” 
Then, holding herself erect by some singular inner 
force — for she felt that all strength had vanished from 
her body — she crossed the salon firmly, and without 
a backward glance re-entered her chamber. 

Lacroix was left alone with Suzanne. He reseated 
himself in the same arm-chair and again endeavored 
to take the child on his knees, but she resisted, pre- 
ferring to stand by his side. 

Her expression had changed. Now, fear was 
mingled with it. She was becoming terrified, now 
that her mother had left her ; and her great, frightened 
eyes never quitted the door behind which she had 
watched Henriette disappear. 

“ By persisting in telling nothing, my child,” began 
Lacroix, “you are doing your father a great deal of 
harm. Why don’t you tell me the truth ? You see 
that I know all about it ; Victoire has told me every- 
thing. She saw you on the balcony, heard you call 
your father, and saw him enter the neighbor’s. Why 
are you unwilling to repeat what Victoire has already 


72 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

told me ? What hinders you ? What are you afraid 
of?” 

“ I don’t know what you want of me, and why you 
ask me all these questions, monsieur. I can’t tell you 
what I don’t know. Send for mother to come here, 
and ask her.” 

‘‘ Why, child, you must not think that I, who am 
your friend, wish to cause you any, sorrow. Listen to 
me carefully while I explain to your young mind what 
I wish, and why I ask you these questions.” 

He made another effort to take her in his lap, but 
she still resisted. 

There was an old and helpless man — for he was 
very weak and feeble — who lived opposite you in that 
little cottage yonder. Some one has murdered him, 
poor old man ! and every one tells me that you saw 
the murderer. Now, murder is a dreadful crime, you 
know, and ought to be punished. If some one had 
killed your mother wouldn’t you want him to be 
punished for it ? ” 

Suzanne would not answer for fear of weeping. 
The commissary noted it. He began to feel the 
strength which she had just demonstrated, quiver 
beneath his attack. She made an abrupt movement 
to disengage herself from this man, to break from him 
and run away to her mother. Without giving her 
time to recover herself he went on : 

‘‘ You must know him then, as you will not say any- 
thing about him, for otherwise you would speak. 
And if you know him and wont speak about him, he 
must be a friend of yours. Now, who can he be ? ” 

Her eyes were filling with tears. She was not 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER ZAROQDE. 73 

weeping yet, but the sobs were mounting from her 
breast to her throat, and as they choked her, her 
hitherto pale face became violently suffused with crim- 
son and her eyes grew red and inflamed with sup- 
pressed emotion. 

So I am mistaken ; he is not one of your friends ? 
Then if he is some -one you don’t know, some one you 
never saw before, why do you not speak ? You must 
tell me, my child. Since you do not know him — he 
who killed poor old Larouette — since he is not a 
friend of yours, why do you hesitate to tell me about 
him ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, monsieur, monsieur ! ” cried the child. She 
could say no more. The hot tears were now running 
down her cheeks and she burst into heavy sobs. Her 
frail form seemed torn by nervous spasms. 

Lacroix hesitated to proceed. Further attempts 
seemed cruel ; but his desire to discover the truth was 
so great that he decided to make one more effort, and 
therefore redoubled his expostulations. 

It is your mother who has commanded you to 
keep silent, isn’t it ? Yes, I know it is. Well, she is 
wrong ; but if she has done so, I shall make no 
further attempts to induce you to speak, for I can 
understand that you cannot disobey your mother. 
Only answer me this, and I will ask nothing more : is 
it true that mother has made you promise to tell 
nothing about that night ? ” 

Her sobs, mingled with torrents of tears, were his 
sole response. 

Listen, dear child ; I will be frank with you. I 
do not wish to harm your father. You love him 


74 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

dearly, don’t you ? Say, aren’t you very fond of 
papa-? ” 

But she was utterly unable to reply. 

I am sure you love him, sure of it ! Well, there 
are wicked people who pretend that it was he who, 
night before last, entered Larouette’s cottage to rob 
and murder the poor old man. If this is proved, you 
will never see your father again ; but if it is false, 
papa will soon return to you and you can kiss 
him to your heart’s content, climb upon his knees, 
pull his beard, and search his pockets for the toys 
he used to bring you from Paris. You hear what I 
say ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, monsieur,” she answered, between her 
sobs. 

It depends upon you, entirely, how soon your 
father comes back. You saw the man who killed 
Larouette. If it was your father, do not tell me ; if 
it was not, do not be afraid to speak.” 

I know nothing about it, monsieur ; I saw noth- 
ing. Why do you make me so unhappy ? ” 

The commissary looked at her for some time in 
utter silence. He held both of her hands in his, and 
had drawn back a little, in order to get a better look 
at her. 

The tears were streaming, unchecked, down the 
poor little face, falling in big drops as they reached 
the corners of the mouth. She wept with her head 
held erect, making no attempt to conceal her tears. 

Lacroix was nonplussed and conscience-stricken at 
the same time. Suddenly, with an abrupt gesture of 
self-disgust, he drew her to him, took her brow be- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 7S 

tween his hands and imprinted a kiss upon her eyes, 
as if to close the fountain he had unloosed. 

“I have caused you much sorrow, my dear little 
girl,” he said tenderly ; and I ask your forgiveness 
for it. Now, go, run off and find your mother.” 

Still weeping bitterly, the victorious little heroine 
of this terribly severe ordeal left the room, in search 
of Henriette. 

She has learned her lesson well,” Lacroix said to 
himself. ‘‘ I suspected it.” 

At this moment a knock sounded on the door, and 
two men entered. They were Lacroix’s agents, T ristot 
and Pivolot. They came to tell Lacroix — who had 
appointed a meeting with them at Ville d’Avray — that 
Roger Laroque had been arrested that very morning, 
in his office Rue Saint Maur, and examined by a com- 
missary of the judiciary tribunal. 

We will recount the history of the arrest later on. 

Profiting by the presence of the two men in the 
villa, the commissary proceeded to make an exam- 
ination of Laroque’s study and bedchamber. This 
examination was not without its fruits, for it led to 
the discovery, in a little wardrobe, of the clothes 
which Laroque had worn the night of the murder ; 
the gray overcoat with its shoulder-cape, the brown 
trowsers, with atom place in the leg ; and the crushed, 
gray, high hat, trimmed with its wide black ribbon. 
Tristot and Pivolot had found out what Roger La- 
roque had worn the night of the murder, and recog- 
nized the articles of dress at once. 

Lacroix also questioned Mme. Laroque regarding 
them. 


the shadow of ROGER LAROQ^UE. 

Did your husband wear these things day before 
yesterday?” he asked. 

Yes, monsieur, I remember that he did.” 

Did he explain to you why his coat was soiled, his 
trowsers torn, and his hat dented ? ” 

She made a negative sign. 

Have you the keys of this secretary and of the 
desk drawers ? ” he demanded. 

Yes, I have them, monsieur.”^ 

‘‘ Be good enough to lend them tome ; it will spare 
me the necessity of forcing the locks.” 

Here they are, monsieur ! ” and she handed him 
a bunch of keys. 

The three men set to work examining the drawers, 
and took possession of some receipts, securities, and 
bank-notes. In one of the drawers Lacroix found the 
revolver. 

‘‘ Ah ! ” he muttered. “ Here is something interest- 
ing ! ” 

It was a weapon of small calibre, a tiny pocket- 
revolver, ivory mounted and richly chased — the iden- 
tical weapon which Henriette had seen, a few moments 
after the crime had been committed, in her husband’s 
hands ! She had watched Roger take it up and ex- 
amine it with a sort of horror — like one who was 
weary of life and meditated ending it ; she had seen 
him unbutton his coat, place the muzzle against his 
heart — But, alas ! he had been too great a coward to 
become a suicide. 

Lacroix examined the chambers and discovered 
that one was empty — one cartridge was missing — five 
only, out of six, remained in their places. The greasy 


THE SHADOW OF ROOER LAROQUE. 77 

barrel proved that the shot had been recently fired. 
He took out one of the cartridges and extracted the 
bullet with his penknife ; it was exactly the size of 
that probed from Larouette’s breast. 

“ If any doubt remained in my mind,” Lacroix said 
to himself, this would destroy it,” and he slipped the 
revolver into his pocket; 

The rest of the search was void of interesting dis- 
coveries. The three men were about to depart, carry- 
ing clothes, papers, and the revolver, when Lacroix 
paused to say to Mme. Laroque : 

We shall be obliged to return this evening about 
ten or eleven o’clock for an experiment that I wish to 
make. Be good enough to await out coming.” 

Henriette simply bowed without replying. She was 
allowing herself now to drift, in helpless unresistance, 
with the flood which had ingulfed her. 

About eleven o’clock in the evening Lacroix did 
indeed return, accompanied by the two detectives. 
He rang at the villa, and, as the servants had retired, 
Mme. Laroque herself — who was expecting him — 
opened the door. What had these men come for, and 
what end did they expect to attain ? 

She had been asking herself these questions ever 
since their departure, but without coming to any satis- 
factory conclusion. 

And what could they require further of her ? To 
submit to one more torture probably. Ah, well ! 
They could never make her suffer more than she had 
done already. 

Since that morning, indeed since her cruel experi- 
ence in Lacroix’s office, and particularly since the ter- 


78 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

rible ordeal to which her child had been subjected, 
her nerves, which hitherto had been strung to their 
utmost tension, had suddenly relaxed and appeared to 
have become thoroughly benumbed ; and, like those 
nervous subjects who find their only relief in mor- 
phine, she had fallen into a sort of mental and physi- 
cal stupor which deadened her sensibility. 

Neither of the detectives entered the house with the 
commissary ; both remained outside the villa. La- 
croix went in, and, on reaching the salon, said to 
Mme. Laroque : 

Madame, I must ask you to allow me to go into 
your chamber for a few moment.s, merely.” 

“ What are you going to do there ? ” , 

“You shall see. Pardon my importunity and the 
liberty I take in requesting this permission ; I only 
wish to make an experiment,” and he entered the bed- 
room. 

Suzanne was still up. Despite her mother’s solicita- 
tions she had insisted upon remaining up when she 
heard of the intended visit of the officers. 

“ Oh, mamma, mamma ! ” the poor child had cried, 
throwing her trembling arms about the young woman, 
“ Hide me from that man ! Forbid him to speak to 
me ; he frightens me so ! ” 

When her eyes fell upon Lacroix, she retreated to 
the depths of the chamber. 

The officer opened the window and passed out upon 
the balcony. The night was superb. The sky was 
sprinkled with innumerable stars, which seemed like 
so many eyes fixed upon this corner of the world, 
where for the last two days borrow and despair had 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 79 

taken up their abode. So calm was the night that not 
even a breath stirred the trees ; not even a leaf 
rustled in the forest. 

Occasionally the notes of a cornet or violin would 
break the silence, borne on the wind from the 
borders of the lake where, in a little inn, a wedding 
party of the peasantry were passing the evening in 
dancing. 

The quadrille from Orphee aux Enfers came dis- 
tinctly on the night air, now loud, now soft, in accord- 
ance with the opening and shutting of the inn windows. 

Across the way, Larouette’s little cottage, which 
had borne a dreary and desolate appearance ever since 
the murder, suddenly seemed to have gained new life 
and animation. Before the open window of the death 
chamber a man’s shadow was visible, and the scene of 
the tragedy became suddenly illumined by a candle 
placed upon the table. 

Lacroix seized Suzanne by the hand, but a shudder 
ran through the child’s body as she pulled herself 
away from him. 

Mamma, mamma,” she cried ; I cannot, I can- 
not ! ” 

Never dreaming of Lacroix’s intention Henriette had 
mechanically approached the balcony, but, suddenly, 
comprehension of his purpose burst upon her, and she 
gave a cry of horror. 

‘‘ No ! That you shall not do ! ” the miserable 
woman exclaimed, throwing herself between the com- 
missary and Suzanne. “ It is atrocious, abominable, 
and transgresses your authority ! It is enough to 
have tortured us for two entire days as you have done. 


8o the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

You are in my house, in my very chamber ; I am mis- 
tress here and have the right to order you to leave ! 
Go ! Go at once ; do you hear ? ” 

She was nearly mad with alarm and excitement. 
She had drawn back from Lacroix and had clasped Su- 
zanne to her, burying the child’s terrified eyes in the 
folds of her dress. 

But, madame, reflect — ” began Lacroix. 

I told you that my child was ill ! Have you no 
compassion upon her ? An unusual sight might kill 
her, she is so nervous and impressionable ! Have 
pity upon her weakness, monsieur. Spare her, I im- 
plore you ! What do you hope to obtain from us, in 
Heaven’s name? What do you want from me! 
What have we done ? What do you expect ? Why^ 
for the last two days, have you so persistently haunted 
our lives ? Why do you give us no rest ? A crime 
has been committed in pur neighborhood ; is it then 
my poor little child’s fault? Am I to blame for it ? 
You surpass your license, monsieur. Your zeal 
carries you too far. A woman’s chamber should be 
sacred from your attempts, and more sacred still 
should be the innocence of this child, her fears, her 
tears, and her youth. Go, I repeat ! I have the right 
to command you to depart, and I insist that you do 
not remain here one instant longer ! ” 

She was almost beside herself, on the very, verge 
of betraying all, for she could no longer counterfeit, 
no longer play a part, with her brain on the very bor- 
der-land of frenzy. One icy sentence of Lacroix’s re- 
stored her reason to its balance. 

Since neither you nor your child witnessed La- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 8i 

rouette’s murder,” he said, “ how did you know that 
we intended to rehearse the crime?” 

She hesitated and crouched down, shiveringly, like 
one who, in an access of violent fever, suddenly re- 
ceives a douche of cold water ; then, in a feeble, sup- 
plicating voice, she said. 

Monsieur, through mercy — for pity’s sake leave 

us.” 

Lacroix took Suzanne gently by the hand. 

“ Since she saw nothing,” he remarked, why is she 
so terrified ? And why does she hesitate to go out 
upon the balcony with me ? ” 

Suzanne suddenly let go her clasp upon her mother 
and looked her fully in the eyes, with a glance that 
consoled the poor woman, saying, as it did, with per- 
fect calmness : Fear nothing, I understand every- 
thing, don’t worry about me ; 1 am very strong.” 
And then, motioning to the officer, she walked boldly 
out upon the balcony. 

Afar off, in the little lakeside inn, they were still 
dancing to the strains of Orphee aux Efifers, The 
moon shone brilliantly, and the night was so clear 
that every detail of the road was distinctly visible. 

Opposite, in the little mahogany-furnished cham- 
ber of the cottage a man was seated, as upon the 
night of the murder, before an open desk, pretending 
to be counting money. This man, who was enacting 
the role of Larouette, was one of the detectives, 
Tristot. Behind him, upon the table which occupied 
the middle of the room, the same candle which had 
illumined the murder burned again in its china can- 
delabra. 


82 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

Lacroix touched Suzanne’s shoulder. 

‘‘ Look, my child,” he said, “if you saw anything 
that night you will recall it now.” 

Suddenly a man appeared below in the street ; a 
tall man, who wore a high, gray hat on his head, 
trimmed with a broad black ribbon— everything was 
plainly visible in the bright moonlight — and a gray 
overcoat with a shoulder-cape. The man was Pivolot, 
the other agent ; the clothes were those worn by 
Roger Laroque the night of the crime. He threaded 
the chestnuts and entered the cottage. A moment 
later he appeared in the chamber where Tristot was 
seated, in apparent unconsciousness, before the desk. 

But all of a sudden Pivolot moved a chair, and 
Tristot, turning quickly, observed him, and a moment 
later the two men were locked in each other’s arms — 
for, aided by the physician’s deposition, the position 
of the body, and the condition of the surrounding 
objects, Lacroix had found it an easy matter to recon- 
struct the scene of the murder. And we see that he 
had not failed in his attempt. 

“ One can imagine it all perfectly,” the commissary 
murmured complacently. “ It is plainly apparent 
that a person placed here at the time of the affair must 
have witnessed every detail. Now, as Mme. Laroque 
and her daughter, according to Victoire’s testimony, 
were on the balcony, it is safe to conclude that they 
saw the whole thing.” 

During this rehearsal he had held Suzanne by the 
hand, hoping to surprise in her a shudder or nervous 
start — especially when she should behold the officer 
dressed in her father’s clothes * but the hot, feverish 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 83 

little hand rested inert in his clasp. Not a single 
sign, movement, or contraction of the fingers ! 

He leaned down and looked searchingly at her, 
when, to his utter disgust, he discovered that her 
eyes were shut tight — so tight that their lids were 
a mass of wrinkles. She had determined to see 
nothing, and she had seen nothing. 

“ Sublime child ! ” murmured the commissary. “ I 
must acknowledge that she has outwitted me.” 

Afar off, in the little inn, the cornet and violin were 
still playing Orphee aux Enfers, They had just begun 
the ladies-chain.” 


CHAPTER IV. 



E must now go back several hours in our story 


VV and follow Roger, from the^ii^e when he left 
the commissary at the mairie^ whither he had gone to 
give information regarding the payment which he had 
made Larouette. 

Concerning himself no further with the incident, 
he walked with a hurried step until he reached the 
Ville d’Avray station, where he took the nine o’clock 
train for Paris. About half an hour later he was in 
the city, and walked directly to his workshops in the 
Rue Saint Maur. 

These occupied a very large range of buildings at 
the lower end of a court, whose right and left sides 
were used for the offices, counting-houses, etc., con- 
nected with the business, together with the superin- 
tendent’s room and that of the porter. The whole 
was separated from the street by a wall, transected 
by an iron grating as solid as it was rich and elegant. 

Laroque passed into his private office and glanced 
at his correspondence ; then he rang the bell. 

A lad entered. 

Is M. Guerrier in the counting-room ? ” Laroque 
asked. 

‘‘Yes, monsieur. M. Guerrier arrived before the 
offices were open.” 


84 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 85 

Ask him to come to my office.” 

The lad withdrew, and five minutes later the door 
reopened to admit the person of quite a young man, 
with a frank, honest expression of face, an intelligent 
manner, and a tall, slender, distinguished figure. 
This was Jean Guerrier, cashier of the house. 

Sit down, Jean,” said Roger, motioning him to a 
chair, after he had shaken the new-comer cordially by 
the hand. Is there any news ?” 

“ Alas, monsieur ! ” the cashier replied, sadly, 
“ the situation has not improved since yesterday. 
Our affairs have never looked up — as you know better 
than I — since the Prussian war. However, we have 
hitherto often weathered similar crises and have never 
failed to meet our payments at the end of the month. 
Unfortunately, I fear that this cursed payment that 
we were constrained to make will fail us. We need 
for to-morrow about 180,000 francs. Larouette’s 
demand drained us of about 140,000. The 100,000 
francs that you repaid me yesterday morning did not 
complete the deficit, and I don’t see what we can do 
about to-morrow. Ah ! if we could only pay our 
laborers and meet our notes to-morrow — that would 
give us time ! ” 

“Yes,” replied Laroque calmly, “that would re- 
prieve and save us, for our situation otherwise is not 
at all desperate. We have important orders on hand, 
and we could complete the machines in a few weeks. 
These delivered, we should receive quick payment, 
which would insure ease for the present and the pos- 
sibility of undertaking fresh orders.” 

“You are aware, monsieur, of all the devotion and 


86 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


affection I feel for you ; I am as much troubled by 
your distress as if it were my own.” 

I know that, my boy ; and I have confidence in 
you.” 

Have you knocked at every possible door?” 

‘‘ All, and found them closed. Bad news travels 
quickly in Parisian business circles, and, at this very 
moment, I presume there is not a factory-owner or 
machine inventor in Paris who is not looking for the 
announcement of my failure. Under such condi- 
tions, and in the face of such an eventuality, purse- 
strings are drawn tight. It is only when we do not 
need money that it is offered us with outstretched 
hands.” 

So there is no hope ?” 

Roger did not reply at once ; but, after a little, 
began to laugh. 

“ See here, my good lad,” he said, rising and taking 
Guerrier’s hands in both his own; “look me in the 
face and tell me if you think I look like a man who is 
contemplating suicide ? ” 

“Upon my word, no, monsieur! And I almost 
dare hope — ” 

“ Dare, Guerrier, dare ; you have my permission.” 

The young man sprang up with a cry of joyous 
relief, and exclaimed gayly : 

“ What ! You have completed the lacking sum ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Fifty thousand francs?” hazarded the cashier 
doubtfully. 

“ Fifty thousand ; here they are.” And Laroque 
emptied from his pocket-book and from his coat 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 87 

pockets bill after bill of fifty, a hundred, a thousand 
francs value. 

Guerrier gathered them gradually together, and 
when Laroque had deposited them all, the master 
remarked genially, as if relieved from a heavy 
burden : 

“ It’s easy enough to count them, isn’t it ? Yester- 
day morning an unexpected payment permitted me to 
pay over to you 100,000 francs; last night, contrary 
to my habit, I played cards at the club. I played 
from sheer desperation, because it was my only 
chance, and I desired to test it before blowing my 
brains out — and I won the fifty thousand francs you 
hold in your hands. This, together with what you 
have in the safe, will permit you to pay up to the last 
sou.” 

“ Ah, monsieur, how very glad I am ! ” exclaimed 
Guerrier, with tears in his eyes. 

It never occurred to him to question Laroque con- 
cerning the details of his unexpected stroke of luck, 
any more than he had dreamed of interrogating hfin 
when, at about the same hour the day before, his 
employer, with feverish hands, had thrown him packet 
after packet of bank-notes, to the amount of one hun- 
dred thousand francs. 

He soon left, dismissed by a gesture of his em- 
ployer, and Roger, with a gay air and sparkling eyes, 
set about filling and lighting his pipe. A happy smile 
played about his lips as his thoughts doubtless wan- 
dered to those he had left out yonder at the Villa 
Montalais, and who represented to him all that life 
held of joy and love; for, as he scratched a match, he 


88 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 

whistled merrily the tune which was such a favorite 
of Suzanne’s : 

“ Passing by a chapel, 

I heard the priests intoning, 

Earth’s sinfulness bemoaning, 

‘ How vile is man ! ’ 

But I thought that they were groaning, 

‘ Thou vile, bad man ! ’ 

And, wild with fear, 1 fled.” 

Roger Laroque in his office, and Jean Guerrier in 
his counting-room, worked away steadily for an hour. 
Roger read his letters, and then answered some of 
the most pressing and important of them. His coun- 
tenance wore an expression of great calmness and his 
manner betrayed no anxiety. 

Now that he was sure of meeting the next day’s 
engagements and that he was conscious of having in 
his safe, not only the amount requisite to fulfill 
obligations at the end of the month, but also suffi- 
cient to pay off his employees and settle his current 
expenses, the future looked much less gloomy. He 
had been, for the moment, disheartened ; but hope had 
given him fresh courage. 

He smoked his pipe with an air of visible enjoy- 
ment. It was a little dissipation that he never allowed 
himself excepting when he was quite alone, in the 
intimate seclusion of his own special den. Outside, 
he smoked a cigar ; but at Ville d’Avray or the Boule- 
vard Malesherbes he abstained entirely, on account of 
Henriette, whose lungs were not over-strong. From 
time to time, he paused in his writing and looked 
about him, with the contented, tranquil glance of a 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. Sg 

man who finds himself in the pursuance of the daily 
occupation which has grown dear to him. 

A small bookcase stood at the further end of the 
office, filled with volumes treating of science or 
mechanics. On the other side of the window which 
overlooked the court, was a huge letter-file, stuffed 
with letters. The walls were hung with designs 
drawn in ink, or with sketches of machinery. 

Through the window was audible the hum of the 
distant engines, the heavy strokes of hammers, and the 
rumbling of mighty wheels revolving with regular and 
unceasing monotony. It was a hubbub that he loved ; 
it had been his very life’s-breath since childhood. 

The son of generations of laborers, he had been at 
first merely a humble apprentice of the factory, and 
had risen to his present standing simply by dint of 
courage, hard work, and keen intelligence. If he had 
had severe struggles in his early life, he could not 
complain, for fortune and success had finally crowned 
his efforts. 

And the glance with which he regarded the designs 
which littered his desk — past successes or future 
hopes — plainly indicated the trend of his reflections. 

And I was on the point of abandoning all this! 
I was about to bid farewell to everything which has 
formed the dream and ambition of my whole life ! I 
have almost clasped hands with ruin ! But, thank 
God 1 — it was only- a nightmare ; let it fade from my 
memory 1 ” 

Jean Guerrier, on his part, had returned to the 
office of which he was the sole tenant, and which con- 
tained the business safe built entirely within the wall 


90 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

of the apartment. He counted over the notes which 
Roger had given him, and arranged them according 
to their amounts. They did indeed represent 50,000 
francs. 

He placed them in the safe and then entered them 
upon his books, after which he devoted himself to the 
slips which the overseers of the different departments 
brought him, and from which he calculated the amount 
of wages due each employee on the morrow. This 
task took him an hour, and, after he had finished it, 
he summoned the three superintendents of the depart- 
ments. 

The Laroque workshops, which were widely known 
in all the business circles of Paris, employed about 
one hundred and fifty workm.en, who were paid off 
every fortnight. Jean Guerrier took from the safe 
two packages of * 1000 franc notes — each package 
containing ten notes — and handed them over to the 
superintendents whose duty it was to pay off the hands. 
Then, as the overseers departed, Guerrier was left 
again alone. 

He now occupied himself with estimating the pay- 
ments of the office employees. Presently he was 
interrupted in his work by the entrance of a young 
lad, who approached him with a frightened air, and, 
stooping, whispered in his ear : 

“ M. Guerrier, what has happened ? Four men have 
just arrived and demanded to see M. Laroque at once. 
They are in the waiting-room.” 

“ Well, what is there strange in that ? ” demanded 
Guerrier, without lifting his head from his desk, and 
continuing to add his figures together. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 91 

“ Only that among them is M. Lienard, the commis- 
sary of police, and two men whom one can easily 
recognize as detectives in citizen’s dress.” 

'The cashier now boked up ; a slight shiver ran 
through him. “ A commissary of police ! ” he mur- 
mured to himself. ‘‘ What can it mean ? Go and in- 
form M. Laroque, and introduce them.” 

Laroque appeared greatly surprised at the announce- 
ment of this visit. He had completely forgotten 
Larouette’s murder and his own deposition made that 
morning to the commissary ; but he suddenly remem- 
bered both, and signed to the boy to admit M. Lienard. 
He went forward to meet the commissary, and greeted 
him easily. ‘‘I can gues.s the object of your visit, 
monsieur,” he said, “ and I thank you for having 
taken the trouble to come here ; for had you but 
dropped me a line I should have been very glad to go 
to your office.” 

‘‘Monsieur,” replied the officer, who would not sit 
down, notwithstanding Laroque’s urgent entreaty, “ I 
have brought with me an expert accountant to whom 
I beg that you will submit your books.” 

Laroque drew himself up proudly, and replied, 
abruptly : 

“ My books ! And by what right do you demand 
this, monsieur ? ” 

“ By the right with which the law empowers me, 
monsieur. I desire you also — if necessary, I order 
you — to direct your cashier to facilitate the labor of 
my expert by giving him whatever information he 
requires.” 

“ And supposing I refuse ? ” 


92 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

“ It will make no difference ; I shall proceed in 
spite of your refusal." 

Laroque made a violent effort to contain himself. 
His ordinarily ruddy face had paled to an ashen hue, 
and his dark eyes glowed dangerously. He waited 
some moments before he replied. 

‘‘What do you want, monsieur, and what means this 
singular abuse of power? " he asked finally. 

“ What I want in the first place," the officer replied, 
“ is a list of the different numbe-rs of the bank-notes 
which constituted the payment of 145,000 francs made 
by you to Larouette. You are aware that Larouette 
has been murdered and that we have been unable to 
discover this sum in his possession, which fact leads 
us to believe that he was robbed of the amount on the 
evening of the very day on which you paid him." 

“ It is my simple duty to enlighten you upon this 
point and you may send your expert to the counting- 
room ; M. Guerrier will inform him. Permit me 
simply to remark that if your request — which I ac- 
knowledge to be a most natural and reasonable one — 
had been made a little more courteously, you would 
have prevented my exhibition of surprise and annoy- 
ance." 

M. Lienard remained stiff and silent. 

Roger repaired to the counting-room, where he gave 
certain instructions to Guerrier. He was accompanied 
thither by a little, pale, withered old man, dry and 
white as his own parchments, who was none other 
than M. Ricordot, the expert. 

“ Monsieur," said Jean Guerrier, addressing him, 
“ from what my employer says, I gather that you desire 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 93 

to know what constituted the payment we made to M. 
Larouette, three days since ?” 

Exactly; gold, checks, or bank-notes.” 

^‘Nothing could be more simple. You can see for 
yourself what the exact condition of our safe was, on 
that day, the 28th of July. As you will see, we had 
only gold and bank-notes — neither checks nor securi- 
ties.” 

He pushed his open books toward M. Ricordot, 
who examined them carefully. 

As, in the payment made Larouette, we employed 
neither notes of hand, checks, or securities it will not 
be so easy, perhaps, to discover traces of the mur- 
derer ; yet, in spite of this fact, I can give you one 
pretty good clue.” He paused and reflected a moment, 
then went to a huge letter-file and drew out a letter. 
‘‘ Among the thousand-franc notes that composed the 
greater part of the payment,” he said, ‘‘ twenty or 
thirty came to us from the country by registered 
letters, in discharge of various accounts ; here are the 
letters. They contain the numbers of the notes, and 
perhaps may be of service to you.” 

“ They will indeed. Thank you ! ” 

M. Lienard had come in and was standing by the 
door, listening. Guerrier addressed him, as well as 
the expert, when he remarked : 

‘‘ I ought not omit to mention to you an accidental 
mischance which occurred to some of the notes, and 
which will prove an even easier method of tracing 
them than their numbers.” 

‘‘ Ah ! What is it, pray ?” 

‘‘Just as I was about to count a packet of five- 


94 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


liundred franc notes, one of our employees passed my 
desk and jostled my inkstand with his elbow, and the 
ink blotted about a dozen of the notes in nearly the 
same place — on the right hand side, just here where it 
says, ‘Article 139 of the penal code punishes with hard 
labor for life, any one who counterfeits or falsifies 
bank-notes legalized by the law.’ You know the rest.” 

“ That is valuable information,” remarked M. 
Lienard. 

M. Ricordot was still at work investigating. As 
he was extremely near-sighted and was prejudiced 
against wearing glasses, his nose nearly touched the 
pages as he bent over them. 

“The condition of the safe on the 28th of July was 
just as this young man says,” he finally grunted. 
“ Now, let us look at it to-day.” 

Silence reigned for about a quarter of an hour. 
M. Lienard paced up and down the office, occasion- 
ally stopping to lean over the expert’s shoulder and 
mutter something in his ear. As to Guerrier, anxious 
and perturbed despite himself, he had taken up his 
position by a window, where he amused himself by 
drumming nervously on the panes. 

All of a sudden, M. Ricordot rose, closed the books 
carefully, and beckoned the commissary into a corner, 
where he stood for a considerable time whispering to 
him. At length both men returned to Laroque’s 
office. 

“ What absurd mystery ! ” the cashier muttered, as 
he re-seated himself at his desk. 

At the same moment Lienard was saying to La- 
roque : 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 95 


‘‘ M. Ricordot has examined your books. He has 
merely proved what was already known to us, 
namely : that your affairs have of late been in a very 
bad condition, and that day before yesterday, even 
yesterday in fact, you could only look for relief to 
some chance stroke of fortune.” 

You are right, monsieur,” Laroque admitted 
sadly. ‘‘ I was very near being obliged to suspend 
payment. To-day, however, I am saved.” 

“ Exactly. M. Ricordot remarked the entry in 
your cash-book, dated yesterday, of an important 
sum — one hundred thousand francs — and to-day of 
another sum of fifty thousand, both paid in by you 
without any mention of how you had received them.” 

“ That is the exact truth,” assented Laroque. 
‘‘ What do you expect to gain from it ? ” 

M. Laroque,” said the commissary, after a some- 
what lengthy pause, “ will you reply candidly and 
unhesitatingly to the questions I am about to put to 
you ! ” 

“You may depend upon my candor, monsieur,” re- 
plied Roger, with noble simplicity ; “ I have never 
lied in my life.” 

“ Whence came those fifty thousand francs which 
you deposited this morning in your safe ? ” 

“ I won them last night at baccarat^ at the Com- 
mercial Club.” 

“Very good. We will verify that later. And the 
hundred thousand entered upon your cash-book yes- 
terday, July 29th?” 

“ That hundred thousand francs was returned to 
me by — ” 


$6 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

He stopped short as if a hand of steel had suddenly 
gripped him by the throat, hindering further speech. 
He had been standing while he spoke, but now the 
effect of M. Lienard’s question was so sharp and 
paralyzing, that he dropped inert and speechless into 
a chair, while great drops of cold sweat pearled his 
brow. 

“ My God ! my God ! ” he ejaculated. What was 
I about to say ! '’ 

The commissary watched him narrowly. 

Allow me to repeat my question,” he observed, 
which you appear not to have heard. Whence came 
those hundred thousand francs which you deposited 
yesterday in your safe, and which are entered upon 
your books ? ” 

Roger Laroque wiped his damp brow with his 
trembling hand. 

I told you, monsieur,” he stammered, huskily, 
from a payment — ” 

Some one owed them to you, and repaid them ? ” 

‘‘ Exactly.” 

‘‘It is quite probable. What is the person’s 
name ? ” 

“ That is none of your affair. I find your curiosity 
decidedly indiscreet, although indiscretion is what we 
naturally expect from those of your profession. But 
in this instance you have overstepped your duty and 
you are erring through interest in your work.” 

“ I warn you that you had better answer without 
subterfuge.” 

“ I do not recognize your right to question me, and 
I refuse. Now, as my cashier has given you all the 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 97 

information requisite to your purpose, I would suggest 
to you that it is already eleven o’clock, that my time 
is precious — ” 

“ You do not seem to appreciate, M. Laroque, the 
gravity of your situation.” 

Laroque tried to appear surprised, and replied, with 
his usual directness : 

Why, in the devil’s name, should you consider my 
situation grave, pray ? and in what particular does it 
interest M. le Commissaire de Police Lienard ? ” 

In that there exist strong evidences of guilt 
against you, and these indications point almost con- 
clusively to the fact that you are the murderer of 
Larouette.” 

“ How ! What ! What is this you say ? ” 

“ You heard well enough, I think.” 

Laroque was silent. Lienard’s words seemed ringing 
through his brain. He looked from the commissary 
to Ricordot with a strange, uncertain glance, then 
suddenly broke into a violent fit of wild laughter, 
whose spasms shook his huge frame like a tornado. 

He went over and seated himself in the leather- 
covered arm-chair facing his desk, and, with his hands 
pressed to his sides, his eyes glittering, and his mouth 
wide open, continued to laugh — a harsh, strident, con- 
vulsed outburst in which there was no merriment, and 
which wet his eyelashes with tears. 

‘‘ You know I never dreamed of this,” he said, at 
last. 

^‘You make a mistake in not taking this accusation 
more seriously,” remarked the commissary ; ‘‘and I 
warn you that the best method of avoiding arrest and 


98 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

extricating yourself from the affair will be to reply 
frankly to my question/' 

You are in earnest, then ? " 

“ Do I look as if I were jesting? " Li^nard asked 
dryly. 

No, scarcely that, i must admit ; and that is what 
set me laughing. Just think a moment of the absurd- 
ity of this accusation. Whom can you convince in 
Paris that Roger Laroque is a murderer ? Those to 
whom I am unknown, perhaps ; but for the opinion of 
such I care nothing. As to the others ! — ” 

“ I am not here to argue as to the likelihood or un- 
likelihood of your guilt, but to put certain questions 
to you and, in the event of your replies appearing un- 
satisfactory, to conduct you to the prosecuting officer 
at Versailles." 

Laroque’s laughter had ceased ; his countenance 
betrayed a little anxiety, and he even looked some- 
what apprehensively at the commissary. 

So it was really true then — they accused him of 
crime ! 

The expert Ricordot had left the office a few mo- 
ments previously, and had gone back to the counting- 
room. Laroque saw him suddenly reappear with a 
packet of bank-notes in his hand. These Ricordot 
set himself to examine during the rest of the conver- 
sation. 

At least it is not without the gravest suspicions 
that a man of my standing is accused," Henriette’s 
husband remarked. My life has never been subject 
to criticism and I cannot imagine how suspicion could 
rest upon me. It is most humiliating and lowering 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 99 

to be obliged to defend myself from such a vile charge, 
and, before resigning myself to this humiliation, I 
should like to hear what proofs you have against me.” 

‘‘ They are of various natures, but at present I am 
only concerned with the money so suspiciously depos- 
ited in your safe. My duty is definite and limited, 
since the crime was committed outside the jurisdiction 
of our prejecture., and I am acting merely under pre- 
cise limitations. The rest of your examination will be 
conducted by the department at Versailles. Do you 
still adhere to your statement just rendered, namely : 
that of the important amount found in your safe — 
which was quite empty on the 28th — the minor por- 
tion came from a lucky evening at baccarat., and the 
major from a repayment ? ” 

Yes, monsieur.” 

“ It will be necessary to prove your statement.” 

I played cards last night from ten o’clock till mid- 
night at the Commercial Club, and I can give you the 
names of several of the gentlemen who banked against 
me. There was the Baron de Ce, Leonce Dubois, the 
well-known manufacturer, and Gaston and Adolphe 
Levallois of Rue du Sentier.” 

“ That is all right then, as regards the club ; we can 
verify that later. Now for the 100,000 francs which 
you deposited in the safe, July 29th.” 

Again M. Laroque grew pale and troubled. He 
rose, moved restlessly about his office, and then said : 

I have nothing to add to my former statement. 
Those 100,000 francs came from the unexpected pay- 
ment of — a — loan.” 

And the name of your debtor? ” 


lOO the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE, 


Laroque was silent. 

Reflect ! This name will prove your statement 
true, for it will be a simple matter for us to verify 
your word. On the other hand, if you persist in your 
refusal, your silence will add one more weight — the 
heaviest perhaps — to the scale of evidence, which 
is already so strong against you. Come ; decide ! 
Thisnajtie!'' 

Laroque shook his head ; then, suddenly seizing his 
forehead in his massive clasp, he repeatedly angrily 
several times : 

What is it to you ? What is it to you ? ” 

“ In your own interest, Laroque, for the honor of 
your house, I beg of you to speak.” 

No. What is it to you, I repeat ? ” 

“ Laroque, out of love for your wife and child, 
whom you seem to have forgotten, you must speak.” 

At this suggestion a shudder shook Laroque’s 
heavy frame. For a moment he stood motionless, 
with gaping mouth, fixed eyes, and bated breath ; 
then his great form bent, his shoulders seemed bowed 
as if a heavy burden had been laid upon them, and 
he tottered as though about to fall. 

“ My God ! I am lost ! ” he cried hoarsely. “ Lost ! 
lost ! ” 

M. Lienard gave vent to an exclamation of annoy- 
ance. 

The expert, who had been going over the bank- 
notes, referring to the list of numbers and amounts 
given him by Giierrier, now rose, and approaching 
the commissary gave him a significant glance as he 
slipped into his hand, without a word, a bit of paper 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. loi 

on which he had penciled some words, and to which 
he had pinned six or seven thousand-franc notes. 

Lienard turned to Laroque. 

So ! he said, I am to understand that you 
refuse to speak ?” 

“1 refuse,” Roger replied, in a harsh, raucous voice. 

‘‘Your cashier gave us, a few moments ago, a list 
of the numbers of several bank-notes received in pay- 
ment of goods sent to the provinces. These notes 
were entered on your books and were used, on the 
28th of July, to pay Larouette with. According to 
your cashier, there remained in your safe, on the 28th 
of July, after Larouette’s payment was effected, noth- 
ing but gold. Under these circumstances will you 
explain to me how it happens that, to-day, we find 
the greater part of the aforesaid notes have returned 
to your safe ?” 

“ It is impossible ! ” cried Roger, overwhelmed 
with surprise. 

“ Look for yourself. On one hand are the regis- 
tered letters containing a list of the numbers and 
amounts of the notes ; on the other the notes them- 
selves, bearing the corresponding valuations and 
numbers.” 

“ My God ! my God ! ” murmured Roger. 

“ These notes, as both your books and your cashier 
testify, left your safe on the 28th of July; they 
entered Larouette’s possession, and were stolen from 
him. Now we find them again restored to your 
safe.” 

In utter bewilderment Roger Laroque gazed at the 
figures which were held before his eyes. It seemed 


102 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

to him that his reason was leaving him. Mechanically 
he began to repeat the numbers. 

‘‘ K. 502-409 — M. 692-702 — P. 213-384.” And 
then, horrified by a danger that seemed to him the 
more terrible from its total unfamiliarity and novelty, 
he gasped, in a low, choked voice : 

It is certainly true— the proofs are there ! ” 

‘‘According to your reasoning,” continued M. Lie- 
nard, “ if I could believe your assertions, the case is 
this : either the notes under suspicion were part -of 
the unlooked-for restitution made you by a person 
whose name you refuse to divulge, or you won them 
at the gaming-table at your club.” 

“ That was impossible ! ” 

“ Unless Larouette’s murderer was either the mem- 
ber of your club who played against you, or the very 
person from whom you pretend to have received res- 
titution — ” 

“ What nonsense ! ” 

“ Do you still persist in your statements ?” 

“ I have spoken the simple truth.” 

“ I should be glad to believe you. But at least 
complete your statement. You can now see into what 
clanger your refusal to acknowledge your debtor’s 
name leads you. Reconsider your refusal.” 

“ No,” replied Laroque, with a determined effort. 

“ This may lead to your ruin.” 

“ At least my conscience will be clear.” 

“ What reason can be sufficiently strong to out- 
weigh so many considerations ? ” 

“ Do not insist, monsieur, I beg of you,” Roger 
pleaded, in profound distress. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 103 

Very well, then ! The department at Versailles 
will doubtless be more successful than I. One more 
question : Were you acquainted with the gentlemen 
with whom you played baccarat at your club ? ” 

With most of them — by sight at least — not with all. 
I use my club very little. I am no gambler. Yester- 
day I played simply because fortune offered me this 
single chance of escape from ruin, dishonor, and 
suicide — ” 

The expert was still pursuing his researches, pay- 
ing no heed to the examination going on in his pres- 
ence. Presently he again rose and handed M. Lie- 
nard another packet of notes, of five-hundred francs 
value, silently drawing his attention to an ink-blot 
that stained the corner of each in about the same 
spot. 

M. Lienard was an old officer accustomed by long 
experience to the most thrilling situations. He said 
nothing, but simply compressed his lips ; then, open- 
ing the door, he called out : 

M. Gtierrier, will you please come here a moment ?” 

The cashier put down his pen, rose, and obeyed the 
summons. As he entered the private office, Lienard 
said to him : 

“ Be so good as to repeat before your employer 
what you told me, a few moments since, regarding a 
little accident that happened to some of the bank-notes 
which were part of Larouette’s payment.*' 

The ink-stains ? ” 

Yes.” 

Jean Guerrier complied, repeating word for word 
what he had formerly told the commissary. 


104 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


‘‘That is all,” said the officer, “ I have no further 
need of you.” 

The cashier withdrew, perplexed by the attitude 
and apparent prostration of his master. 

“ You heard your cashier’s words ” asked Lienard, 
turning to Roger. 

Laroque bowed silently, his heart contracting with 
terror as he divined that a new and horrible proof 
was about to be established. 

“ How then does it happen that these notes, which 
are so easy of identification, have returned to your 
safe, after having been paid to Larouette ? For here 
they are ! Look at them ! You see the ink stain 
upon the legal warning of each ? ” 

“Yes, I do see,” Laroque replied hoarsely; “and I 
even join you in acknowledging that all this is most 
singular and extraordinary.” 

‘f Not so singular in my sight, for I can easily ex- 
plain it to my own satisfaction.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“ The situation is clear enough : Your affairs were 
in a threatening condition, and you had with difficulty 
collected enough money to meet your monthly obli- 
gations, when you found yourself suddenly called upon 
to pay this large amount to Larouette. You besought 
him to wait, but he was refractory and refused to do 
so ; you were obliged to comply with his demands, 
and compliance meant failure — as you yourself ac- 
knowledged in one of your letters to your creditor. 
A single means of escape remained open to you : to 
regain the money that you had paid Larouette, to rob, 
and, if needs were, to murder him,” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. iCg 

“ Your theory is infamous, monsieur T” exclaimed 
Laroque, who was regaining his self-control in pro- 
portion to the increasing imminence of his peril. ‘‘I 
am almost ashamed to assert my innocence." 

Unhappily, your protestation is of no value. It 
is easy enough to assert your innocence, but more 
difficult to establish it. I have brought overwhelm- 
ing circumstantial evidence against you ; these bank- 
notes, paid by you to I.arouette, stolen from him after 
the murder, and found again in your safe. And note 
these additional circumstances. Your creditor lived 
at Ville d'Avray, in your immediate neighborhood, 
close to your own home, which affords an excellent 
place of refuge, and enables you to offer a natural 
alibi. You murder him, and the very next day 
you restore to your safe what had been taken from 
it the day previous. You are the guilty party, 
Laroque ; for my part, I have not the slightest doubt 
of it." 

“ I swear to you, monsieur, that I am innocent ! " 
Roger protested, quite paralyzed by his situation. I 
swear to you that it would have been impossible for 
me to dream of committing such a crime. What 
can I say to you to convince you of my inno- 
cence ? Nothing. Had I been guilty in reality, I 
should have had my defense prepared long since. 
Yes, monsieur, I can see, as well as you, that these 
notes answer the description of those paid to Laro- 
uette. I even admit that these ink stains, described 
by Guerrier, constitute terrible proofs against me. 
I will not attempt to conceal from you that I am 
horror-stricken and alarmed by the mass of evi- 


io6 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

dence against me, and I would explain to you if I 
might ; — but I may not — no, cannot.” 

“ I shall be obliged to arrest you and take you to 
Versailles.” 

‘‘You will disgrace me for life ; you will kill my 
wife and child ; you will ruin the reputation of my 
house. I, an assassin ! I, Roger Laroque ! Think, 
M. Lienard ; I can, if you desire it, send you twenty 
of the best-known business men in Paris, who will 
each and all testify to my honor.” 

“ These are all mere phrases. I should greatly 
prefer one brief, convincing refutation.” 

“ I do not know what to say to you. It is frightful 
to be thus suspected. My poor wife ! My poor 
little Suzanne ! What will become of them when they 
learn this ? It is really I, Roger Laroque, who am 
accused of murder and robbery ! I am not dreaming ! 
They are not fooling me ! This is actual, vile reality 
that is happening to me. Let me think ! — There 
must be some way of saving myself from this foul 
charge. I cannot think ; my brain is on fire, I 
have been too happy ; happiness has unmanned me — 
I thought myself stronger. Monsieur Lienard, you 
could not, in cold blood, desire my ruin ; you do not 
even know me ; help me then, to defend myself. My 
innocence will prove itself, anyway ; but your mind 
is undisturbed and tranquil, while I am well-nigh 
crazed.” 

“ I will, at least, show you an opportunity of clear- 
ing yourself,” said the officer. “ For a moment I will 
acknowledge your explanations to be true. If they 
are so, it is clear that the notes under suspicion must 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 107 

have been received by you from one of your fellow- 
gamblers ; that is, unless they were given you by the 
debtor from whom you pretend to have received one 
hundred thousand francs.” 

Laroque’s gaze had fallen, and his brow had become 
lined. Lienard went on : 

“ As to the club, we shall easily know with whom 
we have to do, as soon as we discover the names of 
those who played at your table. There only remains 
the mysterious debtor whose personality you are 
bound to conceal. You can save yourself by naming 
him. I will at once send one of my men to the ad- 
dress which you shall indicate, and you will be com- 
pletely exonerated, if his declaration agrees with 
yours. On the other hand, if you refuse to name him 
it will be clear to us that you are lying, that this 
debtor is simply a creature of your fancy, whom you 
have invented as a means of salvation at a critical 
moment; I can show you no other means of defense. 
Now, Laroque, speak ; I am listening.” 

Roger took two steps toward the commissary. 

‘‘ Very well ! ” he said. “ I will, since I must.” 

He was about to speak, but stopped short, as he 
had already done once before, choked by a word 
which refused to leave his contracted throat. He re- 
coiled as if the officer had suddenly inspired him with 
fear. In a paroxysm of despair and rage, he lifted his 
hands and buried his fingers convulsively in his short 
hair, and, as if shocked by his momentary weakness 
and dreading a fresh return of it, he locked his jaws 
firmly together and bit his lower lip till it bled. 

Laroque ! ” persisted Lienard persuasively. 


lo8 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUD, 

But the wretched man had fallen back into his arm- 
chair and, like a child who is ashamed of its tears, had 
abruptly hidden his face in his folded arms. He re- 
mained thus, perfectly silent and motionless, a long 
time. He was not weeping. The palsied trembling 
of his fingers, which shook as if under the current of 
an electric battery, alone betrayed the intensity of his 
emotion. 

Think, Laroque,” suggested Lienard, “ of all the 
conjectures that your silence will give birth to.” 

I swear to you, by all I hold dearest in the world, 
by my wife, by the life of my child, that I have told 
you the truth.” 

“ How is it possible for the law to credit your state- 
ment if you voluntarily and persistently deprive it of 
the only means of verifying your words } ” 

In God’s name, and that my fate may fulfill it- 
self,” — said Laroque, in a firm tone of sudden resolve, 
as he rose from his chair, — “ arrest me ! I am ready 
to accompany you, but I will never add another word 
to what I have already said.” 

^‘Strange persistency!” muttered M. Li^nard, to 
himself ; then, aloud. He said, Then I must place you 
under arrest. It is your own doing and you have 
forced me into it.” 

The commissary arranged his notes, made Laroque 
sign his declaration, received a regular declaration 
from Guerrier, added a brief statement from the 
expert, and the bank-notes, — which formed the ground- 
work of the accusation, — intending to send all to 
Versailles to the prosecuting judge, with the prisoner. 
Twelve o’clock sounded from the factory clock. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 109 


‘‘ Follow me,” said Lienard to Roger. 

As they passed through the counting-room Roger 
found it filled with a crowd of employees, who were 
surrounding and questioning the cashier — for a pre- 
sentiment of evil had spread throughout the building. 

My friends,” said Laroque, pausing a moment to 
address the anxious throng, I am arrested on sus- 
picion of having committed a most horrible crime — of 
murder, accompanied by robbery ! I am about to 
leave you, but do not be alarmed ; it will not be for 
long. I shall soon establish my innocence. Continue 
in my service. Guerrier, I leave the direction of the 
business in your hands. Farewell, my friends ! ” 

He was surrounded by outstretched hands, whose 
owners could say nothing because of astonished sur- 
prise. Guerrier embraced his master. 

This foul accusation is utterly senseless ! ” he ex- 
claimed. You will have no trouble in disproving it.” 
Laroque smiled sadly. He had lost his confidence. 
The court-yard was crowded with workmen on their 
way to dinner. Laroque marched between the two 
officers, who each held one of his arms, to prevent his 
escape. The news had spread with the speed of 
lightning. 

“ The master has been arrested ! ” 

Laroque was adored by his employees for his justice, 
his even temper, his good-hurnor, and uprightness. 
In a second, the commissary of police, the expert, 
Ricordot, the prisoner, and officers were surrounded 
by nearly a hundred curious and threatening opera- 
tives, who inclosed them in a narrow circle. They 
were all hearty, robust fellows, with broad shoulders, 


no the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

brawny arms, and ruddy skins. One sign from La- 
roque would have instantly set him at liberty. 

Lienard comprehended this and felt anxious and 
apprehensive for a moment, until Roger said, in a 
firm, decided tone, Be quiet, my good fellows, and 
disperse. I am merely the victim of an error ; but to- 
night, to-morrow at furthest, I shall be among you 
again. Don’t worry about your pay, which will be 
made regularly, as heretofore, by M. Guerrier.” 

One of the apprentices, a mere lad, with a face 
blackened by soot, squeezed himself in between the 
officers to come nearer Laroque. 

“ Master,” he said, “if you wish, we can throw the 
‘ bobbies ’ over the wall — that will give you a chance 
to use your legs.” 

“To fly, my lad ? That would be to confess myself 
guilty.” 

“ That’s as you think best. Anyway, it would have 
been a jolly lark to scatter these birds.” And the lad, 
disappointed in his effort to free his master, drew 
back. 

The workmen respectfully dispersed. A four-seated 
fiacre waited at the gate. The commissary entered it 
first, Roger followed, and then the two officers. 

The factory clock struck quarter past twelve. The 
work-rooms were closed. No sound of hammer, file, 
or clash of metal re-echoed from the deserted building. 
The buzzing of the busy wheels, the hum and groan 
of the heavy machinery, had all ceased, and the still- 
ness of death seemed to have superseded the din 
and roar of a bustling life. The only audible sound 
proceeded from the court-yard and was caused by 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


Ill 


the discontented grumble of the hands. A sinister 
presentiment sent a chill to Roger’s heart. 

“ I shall never see all this again,” he murmured to 
himself ; and, leaning forward, he cast one long, 
lingering, farewell glance at the workshops, whose 
dusty facades stood out in bold relief in the bright 
July sunshine. Behind the gates he could see masses 
of dark, dusky heads, and brawny arms gesticulating 
in evident excitement and animation ; then the factory 
faded from his sight as the fiacre rolled on its way to 
the St. Lazare station. 

During the journey from Paris to Versailles, which 
he made in company with the two officers, his mind 
was filled with thoughts of his wife and child, and as 
the train passed through Ville d’Avray his heart beat 
wildly — a few paces from him were the two beings 
dearest to him in the world ! And, as the windows 
were lowered on account of the heat, he was so far 
from suspecting the truth that he imagined he could 
hear the sweet voice of his little Suzanne, as she ran 
flushed and heated through the blossoming, fragrant 
garden, singing : 

“ I heard the choir-boys singing, 

‘ Te Deum ! Te Deuni ! ’ 

But I thought that they were singing 
‘ Catch him ! Catch him ! 

Then he closed his eyes, and allowed the hot, heavy 
tears to have their way, unchecked. 


CHAPTER V. 


R oger had married Henriette, the daughter of 
George Benardit, former owner of the workshops 
in the Rue Saint Maur. 

On his marriage he became the partner of his father- 
in-law, who was even then very ill ; and Benardit’s 
death, which took place soon after, left him sole mas- 
ter of the business. 

Benardit’s legacy was not actual wealth, although 
it perhaps might have been the means thereto. But 
the old man left Laroque at least one heritage with- 
out spot or blemish — that of an unstained and unsul- 
lied business reputation. This fact he had mentioned 
somewhat proudly to his son-in law previous to his 
death, but Roger was already perfectly well aware 
of it. 

“ Business has become terribly depressed, my boy,” 
the old man had continued. Our grand successes 
at the Exposition cost us more than people imagined. 
I can already distinguish a general feeling of appre- 
hension in all our branches of commerce and manu- 
factures, which is still quiescent but which will burst 
forth before long. Be careful. Don’t speculate. 
Either I am greatly mistaken or the coming years will 
develop great events. Be ready to foresee and make 
use of every opportunity. Economize and labor, and 
you will come out all right.” 

II2 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. I13 

And so Benardit died. Roger was young and 
strong, full of confidence in himself. Instead of cut- 
ting down his expenses, as his father-in-law had sug- 
gested, he enlarged his workshops, sought new cus- 
tomers, and undertook large and very important con- 
tracts. As he was not supplied with a sufficient capi- 
tal to carry on his increased enterprise, he accepted 
from one of his father’s old friends, Celestin Vauber- 
non — like himself, a former workman who had made a 
fortune and was at the head of large silk mills at 
Lyons — from him, we say, Laroque accepted a loan 
of about 100,000 francs, which enabled him to enlarge 
his facilities and put new life into his business. He 
was full of faith in the future, and apparently his faith 
was well founded, for the years of 1868 and 1869 were 
unusually prosperous. 

By his marriage Roger Laroque had formed excel- 
lent connections among the higher middle classes of 
Parisian society. He went much into the world, — 
where he was extremely popular on account of his 
steady good humor and gay spirits, which were a trifle 
high, perhaps, but whose indulgence was always tem- 
pered by an exquisite tact. 

He possessed a keen and sure intelligence, an origi- 
nal turn of mind, and a scrupulous sense of honor. 
While these qualities caused him to be greatly re- 
spected by his own sex, his tact and ready wit gained 
him the admiration of women. He was not hand- 
some, but he was even better. His expressive and 
mobile countenance attracted sympathy, while at the 
same time one felt him possessed of an immense 
amount of dormant power and strength of will. 


1 14 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

He was married in 1865, and within a year Suzanne 
was born. In 1869 Henriette was again expecting to 
become a mother, when an accident in driving from 
Dieppe to Pourville brought on a miscarriage. The 
child died, and for over a year Henriette was a con- 
firmed invalid. 

At a ball, given in one of the salons which he fre- 
quented, Roger one evening met a woman whose 
beauty strongly impressed him. 

Mme. Julia de Noirville, the wife of a celebrated 
lawyer, was the daughter of a Spanish father and an 
Arabian mother, and possessed — strongly accentu- 
ated — the peculiar characteristics of both races : a 
clearly chiseled profile, with a delicate nose, ardent 
and passionate eyes, and a slight figure, whose propor- 
tions were slender without being frail, betraying in 
every gesture, motion, and attitude a grace and sup- 
pleness that were simply marvelous. 

A sort of potent but unwholesome charm was exer- 
cised by this woman ; one felt it in her slow, sweet 
smile and in her searching, slumberous eyes, whose 
gaze was almost discomposing by reason of its fixity. 

What fatality brought these two, Roger Laroque 
and Julia de Noirville, together? Love? No; for 
Roger loved his wife. If he had had time to analyze 
the sentiment which attracted him to Julia, Laroque 
would have shunned her society, but he had become 
the victim of a sudden brief enchantment which 
swept him toward destruction as quickly and easily 
as a gust of wind sweeps before it a helpless autumn 
leaf ; and, after he had fallen, he blushed with shame 
that he had been so weak, so easily tempted. Then, 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. US 

alas ! it was too late ! Julia de Noirville had already 
become his mistress. 

We neither attenhpt to defend nor excuse him. 
This was simply the result of one of those flirtations 
which are so frequently indulged in, in the fashion- 
able world. Entered into half-unconsciously, and 
quite without a thought of possible results, it finally 
assumed proportions of deadly magnitude, which 
cast a tragic, fatal shadow over the lives of both the 
participants. 

Julia loved Roger passionately ; loving him all the 
more because her marvelous woman’s instinct told 
her that his attachment to her was unsound and 
shallow, a mere temporary abandonment, of which he 
would presently feel ashamed. 

This was the one dark spot in Laroque’s life, and 
he expiated it most cruelly. 

Lucien de Noirville had married his wife during a 
visit to Algiers. The first years of their married life 
had passed quietly enough. Julia presented her hus- 
band with two sons, but, when she no longer had the 
cares of maternity to occupy her, she threw herself, 
with a sort of frenzy, into all the caprices and ruinous 
extravagances of fashionable life. 

De Noirville was not wealthy. He was highly 
esteemed in Paris and bade fair to make a brilliant 
career for himself, gaining a very considerable income 
by dint of hard work. But he had no private fortune, 
and the unbounded extravagance of his wife soon 
involved his household in debt. The hard earned 
savings of the lawyer and his exceedingly slender 
patrimony, whose income had sufficed to maintain 


Ii6 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

him while he was a student, existed no longer, save 
in his memory. It had quickly melted away between 
the tapering fingers, with their beautiful, almond- 
shaped nails, of the pretty woman he had made his 
wife, and had gone to swell the exchequers of jewelers, 
dressmakers, and milliners. 

Possibly, if he had been the only sufferer from this 
extravagance, Lucien would not have complained — 
he might have been content to suffer in silence. He 
redoubled his application to his professional duties 
without complaint — for he adored his wife, loved her 
as fondly then as on the first day when he had met 
her in Algiers, under tlie hot African sun, which had 
bronzed his cheek and dazzled his eyes with its rays. 
But he had two children, two boys, Raymond and 
Pierre ; and thinking of them and of their future, he 
grew apprehensive and solicitous. 

One winter’s night he and she were returning from 
a ball given by the president of the law-courts, who 
was a friend of De Noirville’s. They reclined, half- 
buried by rich furs, in the corners of an elegant coupe 
drawn by two pure Arabs, whose fine coats shone and 
steamed in the cold night air. During the ride they 
talked little. Julia’s beauty had created the amount 
of admiration usually bestowed upon it, and that 
deservedly, for she was a magnificent specimen of 
her sex. 

She seemed, in the midst of the elegancies of life 
which surrounded her, and over which she reigned 
with the assurance born of conscious supremacy, like 
one of those rare, strange. Eastern flowers whose 
voluptuous, passionate beauty casts into the shade 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. n? 

the more fragile, tender loveliness of the blossoms of 
colder climes. 

To Lucien himself she had appeared so transcen- 
dently beautiful, as she proudly exercised her sw^y 
in the brilliant glare of the ball-room, that, for the 
moment, he had become oblivious of their former 
differences, of his gloomy forebodings for the future, 
and he had relapsed into his olden condition of pas- 
sionate admiration for this woman who had become 
his wife. 

He had not cared to dance or play cards, even 
shunning conversation, brilliant talker though he was, 
contenting himself simply with watching her across 
the gay scene, filling his eyes and soul with the radi- 
ance of her beauty. Finally, he felt his arms seized, 
and turning discovered M. de Ferrand, his host and 
one of his oldest friends. The old man gently led 
him aside. 

“ Lucien,” he said, “ from my earliest childhood 
I was your father's life-long companion. I have 
watched you since your birth, have followed you in 
your studies and in your married life, as if you had 
been my own son — with just the same amount of 
interest, affection, and solicitude. You must feel 
assured, therefore, that I am your true friend, do you 
not ? ” 

“ Certainly, M. de Ferrand ! ” replied the lawyer, 
surprised by this preamble. Why — ” 

“ 1 am perfectly acquainted with the amount of 
your fortune and the extent of your resources. Now, 
my lad, will you pardon my asking you one ques- 
tion ? ” 


Il8 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE, 

I forgive you heartily,” said Lucien, smiling. 

M. de Ferrand lowered his voice. 

‘‘ Look at your wife — not at her dress, but at her 
diamonds ! Lucien, don’t be angry with me ; I speak 
as your father would have done. You are living at 
the rate of two hundred thousand francs a year. You 
do not earn more than sixty thousand ; how do you 
manage it ? ” 

Lucien experienced a violent shock. This ques- 
tion responded so clearly to his inmost apprehensions 
that it seemed as if his hidden sufferings had sud- 
denly become, audibly voiced. He shook his head, 
saying merely : 

I love her so much ! ” 

The old lawyer replied simply : 

“ Take care ! ” 

And that is why, as the coupe moved swiftly on its 
homeward way, Lucien remained speechless, rendered 
dumb by his horrible presentiment of evil. 

Mme. de Noirville suspected that a storm was 
brewing. She shrank closer into her corner of the 
carriage and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. 
The silence continued until they reached home ; then 
Lucien broke it. 

Julia,” he said, I have not chosen a very good 
time to take you to task. You have just returned 
from a triumph, and are still intoxicated with your 
success. However, it is better to lose no time. I 
have long desired to have certain explanations with 
you, but you have suspected it and purposely avoided 
them. I trust that you never again will force me to 
allude to so painful a subject.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 1 19 

He paused, expecting her to reply, but she simply 
gazed at him with an expression of languid surprise, 
and allowed him to continue without interruption. 

This is not the first time that I have broached 
this subject to you, my dear ; I have already warned 
you against yourself. We are not rich, and since our 
marriage your expenses for your toilette alone have 
exceeded the amount allowed for our whole house- 
hold. Twice already, besides the ample sum which I 
have allowed you for your dress, I have paid your 
creditors, whose bills you have . permitted both times 
to reach a total of eighty thousand francs. It is ex- 
tremely repugnant to me to discuss these financial 
matters with you, but it is nevertheless necessary, 
even for your own interest. Now, my darling, I 
understand that you love elegance, and for my own 
part I love you too well to hinder you from exercising 
your fondness for adornment, and I am too proud of 
your beauty to wish to prevent your enhancing it by 
any advantages of dress or art ; I only caution you to 
be more prudent. I have a horror of debts, and we 
have reached the extreme limit of our resources, where 
they must inevitably begin. We have a whole life- 
time yet before us ; and we also have, what I fear 
you have never thought of, the future establishment 
of our children to consider.” 

She cast an indifferent glance at him as she con- 
tinued to arrange her heavy, magnificent, black tresses 
for the night. 

It is, then, absolutely necessary,” Lucien con- 
cluded firmly, and somewhat annoyed by her silence, 
“ that we change our mode of life. Hereafter, my 


120 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


dear child, we shall lead a much simpler existence. 
I cannot too urgently impress upon you the necessity 
of curtailing your expenses ; for otherwise, see what 
a gloomy prospect awaits us, Julia, in being forced to 
lead separate lives. That is what our present course 
will lead to if we continue to pursue it. I beg you to 
pause, for a separation would cause a horrible scandal 
in society and would completely ruin my life, as J/still 
love you with all my heart.” 

If you really loved me,” she interrupted, paling at 
his menace, which, though timidly suggested, Lucien 
was quite capable of fulfilling — “ how could you think 
of such a wretched possibility ? ” 

^‘1 do love you, truly and devotedly,” he replied, 
rising to take leave of her ; “ love yon as I have ever 
done ; but I am not forgetful of the fact that 1 have 
two sons.” And he kissed his wife’s beautiful, bare 
neck. “ Remember,” he said, as he was leaving, 
‘‘ that I am firmly resolved to pardon no more of your 
extravagances, and that, j)ainful and distressing as a 
separation would be, I should not hesitate to demand 
it of the law in the interests of Raymond and Pierre.” 

He retired, having said all he wished to. He had 
judged this conversation necessary, but in order to 
pursue it to its conclusion he had been obliged to 
trample his heart beneath his feet and do violence to 
his passion. 

If Julia had loved her husband as he loved her the 
effort he required of her would not have seemed a very 
excessive one, for love can atone for any sacrifice in a 
woman’s breast and replace with more genuine delights 
the fictitious value of luxury, conquest, and coquetries. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. I2I 

Unfortunately, she did not love him. She had mar- 
ried him without love, and, to banish her need of love, 
she had thrown herself with feverish eagerness into a 
vortex of dissipation, endeavoring, by physical fatigue, 
to conquer the emptiness of her heart. 

Lucien’s expostulations had come at a bad time. 
Her creditors had left her in peace during the last six 
months, because heretofore they had always received 
their money ; but lately they had grown pressing, 
annoying and exasperating her with their demands. 
After this conversation she suddenly awakened to the 
fact that she had reached a dangerous crisis without 
possessing means of issuing from it. On one side 
were her creditors, who were fast losing patience ; and 
on the other, Lucien’s anger and the dread of scandal. 

It may be wondered at that she should dread a sep- 
aration, not loving her husband. Had she been alone 
she might have resigned herself easily to such a situ- 
ation, but, frivolous and foolish as she was, she adored 
her children, and at times — after having neglected 
them for days — a sudden caprice, an unlooked-for 
revival of maternal tenderness, would cause her to 
devote herself to them to the exclusion of all else. 
She would live their lives, join in their sports, become 
again a child with them, laugh and romp and never 
leave them — not even for one hour — for whole days 
at a time. 

It was when she was thus beset, filled with fear and 
dismay, that she first met Laroqne. For him she for- 
got everything else in the world, abandoning her 
heart to him with such passion that nothing else 
seemed real in life but her love. Lucien, her children, 


122 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

the world, dress, and her creditors, all faded from her 
mind as it yielded to this one absorbing interest. 

De Noirville possessed one of the largest clienteles 
in Paris. He was an assiduous worker, being endowed 
with sufficient talent to satisfy his wide ambition. 
Julia, therefore, enjoyed a comparatively unlimited 
freedom, and it often happened that she went out 
under the protection of a friend or relative instead of 
with her husband. Late in the evening her husband 
would come for her. 

Laroque only knew de Noirville by sight, having 
seen him but two or three times in the salons of 
mutual friends. A merely formal introduction had 
informed each of the other’s name, 

A few days after the conversation just related, 
Roger received, at his office in the Rue Saint Maur, 
a brief note, in a fine, slanting handwriting, from 
which exhaled a perfume which he at once recognized. 
It was unnecessary for him to look at the signature to 
discover that it was from Julia. 

The letter requested an immediate rendezvous, to- 
ward two o’clock, in one of the shops of the Louvre. 

Already the chains of this connection began to gall 
Roger. He had succumbed to a loveless infatua- 
tion for which he already blushed, and for which he 
was experiencing such bitter remorse and shame that 
he even shunned his wife, fearing that she should dis- 
cover his treachery. But Julia’s letter wac so urgent 
that he felt constrained to comply with its request. 

When he reached the Louvre he found that the 
young woman had already arrived, and was awaiting 
him with profound anxiety. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 123 

Appointments are easily conducted in the great 
shops of Paris. There is never such perfect isola- 
tion and security from observation as in the midst of 
a crowd. One receives but scant attention where all 
are engrossed in their own interests. At least, so 
these two thought — but, in fact, every syllable they 
spoke was overheard by a man who had, at their first 
words, hidden himself from view that he might listen, 
undetected. 

.He was one of the clerks of the Louvre, with a tall, 
•athletic figure and a hard face. 

Roger was not long in discovering that, notwith- 
standing the smile with which Julia greeted him as 
she pressed his hands in a furtive clasp, she brought 
bad news. Indeed, her olive skin had become almost 
sallow, her features were wan, and the brilliancy of 
her eyes seemed dim and faded. 

She spoke boldly, without hesitation, in short, curt 
phrases, which alone betrayed her emotion. 

“ Roger, if you do not save me, I am ruined.’* 

What has happened ? ” 

She related what we already know : that she was 
heavily in debt, and that her husband had threatened 
her with a scandal. 

So ! ” he said, greatly reassured — for he had im- 
agined a much greater misfortune — “ you owe one 
hundred thousand francs ! ” 

She nodded assent. 

Well, then, I will give them to yon ; but it is a 
heavy, a very heavy sum for me to raise. I shall need 
a fortnight at least to collect it. Will your creditors 
wait until then ? ” 


124 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

I think so, when I assure them that they shall then 
be paid.” 

‘‘ Then you may depend upon me, Julia.” 

“ Roger, you have saved me from ruin,” she said, 
with her eyes filled with tears which she made stren- 
uous efforts to hold back, for she did not wish to be 
seen weeping. But you must assure me that this 
hundred thousand francs will not seriously embarrass 
your business, else I will not accept them.” 

Make yourself easy, Julia.” 

You swear that it will not do so ?” 

I swear it.” 

One thing more, my friend. I only consent to 
accept them as a loan. I shall be wiser, hereafter. 
Since I have your love what else do I need in the 
world ; is it not sufficient to fill my life ? ” 

She left the shop first and dispatched a lad to find 
a cab for her on the Place du Palais-Royal. 

From the shadowy obscurity of the carriage she 
threw Laroque a kiss from the tips of her gloved fin- 
gers, and then disappeared from sight. But another 
fiacre followed hers as far as the Rue de Rome, and, 
as she ascended the steps to her door, a man — the 
same who had surprised her confidence at the 
Louvre — went up to the concierge and asked her 
name. 

The concierge unsuspectingly replied : 

“ Mme. de Noirville,. wife of the lawyer.” 

A fortnight later Laroque brought the 100,000 
francs to Julia, as he had promised. The young wo- 
man was saved ! 


CHAPTER VI. 



RAVE events were occupying France at this time. 


Vjr The ill-omened month of July, 1870, had begun, 
and on the 15th the government declared war with 
Prussia. Early in August our forces were concen- 
trated on the Rhine, and early in August our sad, 
preliminary defeats took place. 

Then France awoke to the fact that danger really 
menaced her, and all her children capable of bearing 
arms hastened to enroll themselves in her defense. 
The recruits were dispatched to the camp at Chalons, 
whither MacMahon’s army had retreated for rein- 
forcement and reorganization. 

Scarcely a month after the declaration of war, two 
men found themselves together in camp, both of whom 
had been torn from the bosoms of their families by the 
same patriotic impulse, and whom chance had placed 
in the same regiment, the 6th Chasseurs. These two 
men were Laroque and de Noirville — lover and hus- 
band. 

Hitherto, in society, they had exchanged the merest 
formal salutations that chance acquaintance demanded, 
but had never found themselves especially drawn to 
each other. Now, when Roger first perceived the 
lawyer, he instinctively recoiled from him in guilty 


126 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

confusion, but Lucien at once recognized him, and, 
holding out his hand joyfully, exclaimed : 

‘‘ Monsieur Laroque ! Enrolled with me ! We 
shall serve together.” 

That night Roger slept little as he lay extended on 
a litter of straw, surrounded by a multitude of other 
recumbent forms. He felt that this meeting was 
more than a chance encounter. It seemed to him that 
it was both a menace to his future peace and a threat 
of coming retribution. 

A common existence, dangers mutually encoun- 
tered, the thousand painful incidents of the campaign 
bravely endured in each other’s company, brought 
them closely together — in spite of Roger’s efforts, 
who at first kept strictly on the defensive against the 
threatened intimacy, for, knowing himself to have 
been the betrayer of de Noirville’s honor, his con- 
science smarted and stung him with bitter self- 
reproach at every advance of friendship made by the 
injured husband ; while ever between him and his 
would-be friend arose the phantom of the guilty wife. 

Every hand-clasp of Lucien’s sent the hot blood 
rushing to his cheeks, while at the same time he felt 
strongly drawn to the man he had so foully injured. 
Each day showed him more plainly this man’s rare 
qualities, his candor, loyalty, and noble-heartedness. 

At last MacMahon’s army broke camp and began 
that fatal march which terminated in the catastrophe 
of Sedan. Roger and Lucien belonged to the same 
battalion and were constantly in each other’s society 
when the duties of the service did not separate them. 
Brave and well-disciplined, uncomplaining under the 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 127 

most fatiguing exertions, besides being excellent 
horsemen, both stood high in the esteem of their 
chiefs. 

When bivouacked for the night they lost no oppor- 
tunity of being together ; and, in their long, discur- 
sive talks, Lucien opened to his friend’s inspection 
the whole scope of his generous and chivalrous soul, 
while in return, Roger, mastered by a mysterious, 
sympathetic impulse, showed himself in his true colors, 
loyal, impulsive, and honest. 

Under such circumstances it was not strange that a 
strong mutual attachment soon sprang up between 
them ; stronger and more enduring, even, than the 
love of brothers. These friendships, born under 
tragic circumstances, where life has quite lo.st its 
usual humdrum character and the dramatic has be- 
come the customary atmosphere, are often the strong- 
est, the liveliest, and the deepest-rooted attachments 
of life. 

Lucien had abandoned himself to it joyfully. Was 
it possible for him to suspect that this man, who ap- 
peared so brave, upright, and noble, had brought shame 
and dishonor upon his home? 

Roger, on the contrary, fought long against it. 
The future terrified him. What would the conse- 
quence be if he allowed himself to form an intimate 
friendship with Julia’s husband? For some time he 
held himself aloof, and then his reserve succumbed, 
friendship suddenly sprang into birth, stronger even 
on his side than on Lucien’s — for it was composed of 
many diverse emotions, among which remorse played 
a prominent part. 


128 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

Ah, if he had only 4cnown Lncien sooner, how 
much more easily could he have resisted that wretched, 
fleeting fascination that Julia had exercised upon 
him ! But this thought did not in the least lessen his 
remorse. In his guilty attitude toward Lucien he was 
continually thinking : 

If he ever learns the truth, what will he think of 
me? What will he do? How he will scorn and 
despise me ! What disgust and hatred he will feel 
for me ! 

And he longed that the fortunes of war might 
afford him an opportunity to sacrifice himself for 
Lucien. As the days went on he felt a singular con- 
viction grow upon him that nothing would re-establish 
himself in his own esteem but an utter sacrifice of 
himself to his friend, and he felt an eagerness to con- 
front any danger, even a mortal one, in his friend’s 
behalf, that he might rid himself of this burden of 
self-reproach. 

In fact, he craved an opportunity to efface with his 
life-blood the stain which he had inflicted on his 
friend’s honor. 

But fortune seemed to frown upon him in propor- 
tion as it favored Lucien, f^r during a reconnoissance 
made within the enemy’s lines, near Mouzon, on the 
eve of the battle of Sedan, he was strucL in the head 
by a shell, which stunned him and felled him to the 
ground. 

A large body of blue dragoons gave chase to his 
corps. Roger had fallen across the road unconscious 
— dead, his comrades thought. At all events, the 
Prussian horses would soon put an end to him. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 1 29 


But Lucien would not abandon him, and returned 
to his succor, with the enemy’s balls whistling about 
his head. The dragoons came on with all speed, but 
the lawyer was no coward. Raising Roger, he laid 
him across his saddle, remounted, dug his spurs into 
his horse’s flanks, and soon caught up with the rear 
of his detachment. The latter paused to cover his 
approach, and, happily, on the edge of a little wood 
which bordered the Meuse, the red trowsers of a 
battalion of the line became visible, skirmishing as 
sharpshooters. 

The Prussian dragoons came to a halt, fired a last 
discharge, and retreated at full speed. 

An hour later Laroque regained consciousness. 
The ball had merely grazed his head, and he was able 
to remount his hor-se, which a soldier had caught 
wandering in the fields. Roger looked downcast and 
gloomy as, with tremulous voice, he said to de Noir- 
ville : 

Lucien, I owe my life to you. God is my witness 
that I am more than willing to render you as great a 
service and give my life to save yours ! ” 

The lawyer smiled, and held out his hand. 

“ I believe you, Roger,” he said heartily. ‘‘ What 
I have done for you, you would and may yet, per- 
haps, do for me. Say no more about it, I beg of you. 
In war, these things are of common occurrence.” 

Roger was glad to let the subject drop, but he grew 
more remorseful and depressed day by day. Yet his 
friendship for de Noirville increased steadily, while 
Lucien’s love for Laroque seemed augmented by this 
incident. 


130 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 

The first of September came. The firing around 
Sedan commenced at daybrfeak. Four or five hun- 
dred cannon encircled the French army and poured 
death into it from every direction, from hill, valley, 
and woodside. We will not stop to describe this fatal 
battle, but will content ourselves with relating the 
fortunes of two of its participants. 

Until eleven o’clock the French army, fighting only 
for honor, with no hope of conquest, held its ground 
and permitted no encroachment of the Prussians. 

The French,” says the Prussian military historian, 
Borbstaedt, “ inferior both in numbers and position, 
showed admirable courage and contempt of danger.” 

About eleven o’clock, an order from General 
Wimpfen dispatched the 7th regiment, under General 
Douay, to reinforce the corps of Lebrun. This was 
the beginning of the defeat. The double move of 
the Prince Royal of Saxe and of the Prince Royal of 
Prussia completed it. 

The routes from Bouillon and Mezieres were both 
cut off. La Chapelle and Saint-Menges fell into the 
enemy’s power. The plateau d’llly and the forest of 
Garenne were the scenes of the most frightful can- 
nonade which hcis ever rent the air of the battle-field. 

The moment was critical — the army was becoming 
sp^ent. A little before noon, General Wimpfen, who 
had assumed the position of Commander-in-Chief, and 
General Ducrot met near Garenne. A rapid consul- 
tation was held between them, and Wimpfen ordered 
Ducrot to attempt a final effort. 

General Ducrot at once assembled all the available 
cavalry : the Margueritte division, comprising the first 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 131 . 

regiment of hussars, the sixth regiment of chasseurs, 
the first, third, and fourth regiments of chasseurs 
d’Afrique, and the remnants of the Bonnemain and 
Salignac-Fenelon divisions. 

The cavalry was ready to sacrifice itself as it had 
done at Reischoffen, and its abnegation was the more 
sublime that it fully comprehended how unavailing it 
would prove. 

Roger and Lucien belonged to the 6th Chasseurs, 
who were detailed to that tragic encounter which will 
remain to all eternity famous, with two or three simi- 
lar actions ; heroic martyrdoms, which glorify the 
name of Frenchman and burn with a bright luster in 
the sacred midnight of defeat and humiliation. 

The hour was a solemn one. Laroque and de 
Noirville pressed their knees hard into their horses* 
flanks, and the sagacious beasts responded by point- 
ing their ears and neighing loudly. They were close 
beside each other in the ranks. 

“ Roger,” exclaimed Lucien, we are about to 
die ! *’ 

I know it,” replied Laroque, in a grave, steady 
tone. 

‘‘ I shall die without regret, because it is at the 
command of duty. But I have a wife and two boys ; — 
if I die and you survive, Roger, will you promise to 
fill my place to them ? My wife, alas ! is light and 
frivolous — I fear she may neglect my lads. Will you 
be a father to them ? Then I can die in peace and 
tranquillity.” 

Pale as death and with trembling voice, Roger 
replied : 


132 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 

I promise to do so. Bull, too, have a wife, and one 
little daughter ; if I fall and you survive, will you con- 
sole them ? Will you watch over and protect them ? " 

“ As if I were your brother ! ” 

“ That is well ! Now, as we may both die, come, 
Lucien ! 

He leaned from his saddle and opened his arms to 
his friend, and before the assembled soldiers — not one 
of whom smiled, for all felt the common and certain 
danger that menaced them — they clasped each other 
to their breasts in a silent embrace. 

General Margueritte was passing at a gallop. As 
his eyes fell upon the grand, simple scene before him, 
he lifted his kepi in the air and cried out : 

Vive la France !” He was on his way to meet 
his death. 

The mother-country is fertilized by the generous 
blood of her sons. 

The French artillery awaited the opening of the 
action. The first batteries were at once pulverized to 
atoms ; others hastily replaced them. 

General Margueritte went forward to reconnoiter 
the spot whither he wished to lead his infantry to the 
attack, but fell at once, struck by a ball. General de 
Galliffet assumed the command. 

Ducrot ordered the men to charge, and hussars, 
chasseurs, and chasseurs d’Afrique sprang forward 
with drawn swords, half hanging from their horses in 
their eagerness for the fray. It was a very whirlwind 
of steel that, between the woods of Garenne and the 
village of Floing, swept down upon the seventeen 
German battalions, 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. I33 

The tirailleurs disperse, hacked to pieces, but the 
battalions stand firm. A rain of fire descends upon 
the French soldiers ; whole ranks are mowed down, 
making great gaps in the regiment, where dead horses 
and men mingle in hideous disarray, in a jDerfect 
charnel-house of brute and human bodies. The 
French retreat ; the cavalry hasten to re-form behind 
the shelter afforded by the infantry. 

Roger and Lucien are safe and sound, intoxicated 
with excitement, their sabres red with blood. That 
of Roger is bent out of shape. 

Half an hour passes. Galliffet advances anew with 
his decimated ranks, retreats again, and then for the 
third time advances — but this time there are none left 
to retreat ; all that is left of that gallant band is a 
heap of debris, the handiwork of the tirailleurs ! 

Roger Laroque returns alone ; Lucien remains — 
yonder, close to Garenne ! 

Roger still sees flitting before his eyes that terrible, 
bloody scene of carnage, unspeakably horrible and 
dreadful ! 

De Noirville’s horse fell, struck by a shell. Disen- 
gaging himself from his stirrups, Lucien ran to one 
of the riderless horses which were galloping about 
in wild confusion. He was about to seize it, he 
stretched forth his hand — a shell burst close beside 
him ! 

And Roger, hastening to his aid, quickening his 
horse by blows with the flat of his sabre, found noth- 
ing remaining where his friend had just been stand- 
ing but a fearful, shapeless something, a mere human 
trunk, outstretched upon the ground, with writhing. 


134 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQC/E. 

uplifted arms. The shell had cut off both de Noir- 
ville’s legs. 

William, king of Prussia, from his position upon the 
heights of Marfee overlooked the field of battle. It 
is said that he was overcome with admiration at the 
sight of our heroes sacrificing themselves for honor 
with an utter absence' of self consideration and an al- 
most divine self-abnegation, and that he was so moved 
by the spectacle that he cried aloird : 

‘‘ Oh, what noble fellows ! ” 

And noble indeed they were, these heroes of whom 
France may well be proud, though the oceans of blood 
so generously shed by them were powerless to stay 
defeat and disaster. At three o’clock the white flag 
floated over the citadel. 

Carried along by the surging waves of a sea of 
cavalry, infantry, and artillery, all retreating in des- 
perate haste toward Sedan, Roger found himself forced 
to quit the battle-field. 

He was half-crazed with horror and sorrow, having 
constantly before his eyes that dreadful vision of 
Lucien half cut in two, besides being maddened with 
rage at this new disaster to the army. 

When Wimpfen rallied three thousand men together 
in the streets of Sedan, in a last foolish effort to force 
the enemy's lines, Laroque was among them. His 
horse was killed under him, and he was obliged to 
regain Sedan on foot. 

The Prussians redoubled their fire. They had com- 
pleted their stratagem and now formed an impenetrable 
circle of steel about our army. There was no further 
use in holding out, and Napoleon decided to capitulate. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 1 35 


Fearful and indescribable confusion and disorder 
prevailed within the town. Roger sought refuge upon 
the ramparts, and there fell prostrate upon the grass, — 
half-dead with fatigue and excitement, — where he 
slept profoundly until awakened by the fresh evening 
breeze. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Why was 
he sleeping there ? 

Memory slowly returned to him. He felt of him- 
self — no, he was not wounded. Then his thoughts 
recurred to Lucien. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” he murmured sadly. He died in 
the pursuit of his duty ! ” and he sighed heavily. 

Comparative silence had fallen around him. The 
Prussians had ceased their fire and the batteries were 
still. Napoleon had sent the following to William : 

“ My Brother : 

“ Not having been permitted to die in the midst of my troops, 
nothing further remains for me but to place my sword in Your 
Majesty’s hands. 

“I am, Your Majesty’s brother, Napoleon.” 

Roger unbuckled his belt, broke his sabre into two 
pieces and tossed them over the ramparts into the 
ditch below. 

Night came on slowly ; a calm, peaceful night which 
seemed desirous of concealing, beneath its sheltering 
mantle of darkness, the carnage of the day, and bury 
both conqueror and conquered side by side together, 
in the sinister equality of death. 

Having fully recognized his own position and sur- 
roundings, Roger came to a sudden decision. 

I cannot leave Lucien ! ” he exclaimed aloud. 
“ I must find him and bury him, myself, there where 
he fell ; and I will mark the spot with a cross." 


136 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

Though greatly fatigued he set out at once, leaving' 
the town, and supportmg himself with the aid of a 
stick which he had picked up from the roadside. He 
took his way toward the battle-field, toward the spot 
where he had charged the Prussians and where Lucien 
lay dead. 

An hour passed. He had no difficulty in remember- 
ing the spot — it was close by the woods of Garenne. 
The place was piled with corpses, which, one by one, 
he was obliged to examine, raising them carefully and 
gazing at their still, white faces, seeking, among the 
blood-stained, disfigured features, those of his friend 
de Noirville. 

Night had by this time quite fallen and the stars 
burned brightly in the clear sky. It seemed as if 
myriads of terrestrial stars also were alight around 
Sedan, Bazeilles, and two or three neighboring vil- 
lages, striving to make their brilliancy visible through 
dense, heavy clouds of smoke — these were the fires of 
the Prussian bivouacs. 

Overcome, for a moment, by the terrible grandeur 
of the scene, Roger stood silent upon the heights 
of Garenne, and gazed about him. 

It was the very hour when William, the victor, was 
sending the following reply to Napoleon : 

“ My Brother : 

While regretting the circumstances in which we find ourselves 
placed, I accept Your Majesty's sword, and I beg you to name 
one of your officers whom you shall empower with full authority 
to treat with us regarding the capitulation of the army which has 
so heroically fought under your command. On our side I desig- 
nate General von Moltke for this purpose. 

“I remain, Your Majesty’s brother, William.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 137 

During the night the hoarse, suffering voices of the 
wounded filled the air with piteous cries for help and 
relief. Occasionally a dark shadow would rise with 
terrible effort, take a few tottering steps forward, and 
then fall, never to rise again. 

And down yonder, in the direction of Floing, La 
Chapelle, Morfee, Saint-Menges, and indeed through- 
out the whole neighborhood, the air was noisy with 
jubilant hurrahs, with the music of the Prussian bands 
discoursing their liveliest national airs, with the sound 
of the fifes playing triumphal marches in the midst of 
illuminating torches and the joyous acclamations of 
exulting conquerors. 

But what was even more harrowing than these 
scenes of rejoicing, than the mingled groans of the 
dying French and Prussians, even than the sight of 
those mutilated corpses, was the spectacle of the vil- 
lages overshadowed with a heavy canopy of dense 
black smoke, burning, in the stillness of the pure, calm 
night, as they had burned since the early morning, 
continuing to burn with unabated vigor, as if their 
smoldering ashes constantly revived their flames 
to testify to the atrocious vengeance of their 
enemies, and write it in live tongues of fire in the 
sky. 

Roger became totally unnerved as he stood in the 
midst of all this suffering and desolation. His whole 
soul burst forth in a mighty sob. He continued his 
search and at last his exertions were rewarded. His 
brief glimpse had not erred ; de Noirville’s legs were 
both shot away, and the same shell had struck him in 
the breast. 


13 ^ THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

Roger fell on his knees beside him, and pressed his 
lips to his brow. 

‘‘ Pardon me, Liicien ! ” he murmured, in a choked 
voice. ‘‘ Forgive me, my friend, I beseech you ! " 

He placed his hand on the poor fellow’s heart, and 
to his surprise, discovered that, notwithstanding his 
terrible wounds and great loss of blood, it was still 
beating. Laroque was seized with a m.ad hope. Was 
it not possible to save him ? 

He heard French voices a few rods distant ; he 
called and they responded, and as *they approached 
he discovered that they were those of ambulance 
officers, bearing litters for the wounded. When he 
motioned to Lucien they laughed derisively. 

‘‘ He has made his account good ! ” 

‘‘ But he is not dead ! ” 

‘‘ He is not much better. We have other wounded 
to look out for, those whom there is a prospect of 
saving ; while this poor fellow is as good as dead.” 

But Roger would not permit them to abandon 
Lucien ; he begged, besought, and finally persuaded 
them. With his own arms he placed de Noirville’s 
shattered trunk on the stretcher. 

On reaching Sedan the first surgeons to whom he 
applied absolutely refused to concern themselves 
with the sufferer. What was the use, they remarked, 
when at best he could live but a few days ? And they 
had so much to do in these dreary, mournful days ! 

In desperation he went to a civilian who was men- 
tioned to him, a Dr. Champeaux, who had long retired 
from practice. The doctor took de Noirville into his 
own house. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQDE. 139 

‘‘ I will do all that I possibly can,” he said to Roger, 
“ but do not allow yourself to hope, for your friend is 
a dead man.” 

Roger thanked him effusively. He gave him 
Lucien’s name, his address in Paris, and his own 
address. Rue Saint Maur. 

I am a prisoner,” he said, and to-morrow, or the 
'next day at latest, I shall have to set out for Germany. 
I will write you.” 

He kissed de Noirville upon the brow and then 
departed, to rejoin, in the peninsula of Izes, the rem- 
nant of the 6th Chasseurs. 


CHAPTER VIL 


L AROQUE was taken to Coblentz, whence he 
escaped after a two months’ captivity. He had 
wriiten many times to Dr. Champeaux without receiv- 
ing any reply. He endeavored to return to Paris to 
rejoin his wife and daughter, from whom he had 
heard nothing since his imprisonment, but was unsuc- 
cessful ; so he returned to the army which was sta- 
tioned on the Loire. 

Taken prisoner a second time at Coulmiers, he 
again effected his escape, and after the Commune 
returned to the Rue Saint Maur. 

Suzanne and Henriette were well, though they had 
suffered terribly. They both wore mourning for him 
whom they had believed dead. 

Laroque at once telegraphed to Dr. Champeaux at 
Sedan and received the following reply : 

De Noirville out of danger. Still with me. Will 
accompany him to Paris in a few days.” 

So Lucien was saved notwithstanding his frightful 
mutilation ! A fortnight later Roger received a brief 
communication through the mail : 

“ My Dear Friend : 

“ I scarcely hoped ever again to see you. I am at Rue de 
Rome, in my own house, but too feeble at present to venture any- 
where. Come to me ; I long to grasp your hand again ! " 

140 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 141 


To go to Lucien’s was to meet Julia again ! To 
find himself placed between her and the man whose 
friend he had become, whom he loved better than a 
brother, and who, now, nailed as he was for all time 
to his chair, was a thousand times more worthy of 
respect and compassion than ever before ! What 
should he do ? What excuse could he frame for not 
going ? ” 

No,” he determined, I will not delay ; I will go 
and see Julia. I will have an explanation with her. 
She must be made to understand that all is over be- 
tween us ; that henceforth not so much as a hand- 
clasp, a smile, or a look must be exchanged between 
us. It would be too horrible in his presence, in the 
presence of this poor defenseless cripple ! No, a 
thousand times no ! ” 

He presented himself therefore at the lawyer's 
house in the Rue de Rome. 

De Noirville was in his chamber and a servant 
ushered Laroque into the salon. Soon after Julia" 
entered. She hastened toward Roger with out- 
stretched hands. ^ 

Nearly a year had passed since their last meeting. 
Her beauty seemed to have increased during the past 
months. Her eyes appeared to burn with deeper, 
more intense luster, and her bearing had become 
more haughty and imperious. But she loved Roger, 
and something in his aspect seemed to melt her pride 
to tenderness as her glance fell upon him. 

He bowed respectfully but coldly, without touching 
her beautiful hands. 

Roger ! Roger ! ” she cried. How often have I 


142 THE SHADOW OF ROGER EAROQUE. 


thought of you ! How fearfully I have suffered for 
you ! ” 

She stopped short upon beholding the inexpressi- 
ble horror on Laroque’s mobile face, which was so 
plain an index of his feelings. As she paused he said, 
in a low, determined tone : 

‘‘ Julia, let us forget the past and may God forgive 
us for it ! I am now Lucien’s friend ; do you under- 
stand what that signifies ?” 

And as she recoiled, feeling as if she had sustained 
,a mortal blow in her heart, he passed out and entered 
de Noirville’s room. 

The lawyer was sitting in his arm-chair pale, meager, 
scarcely recognizable, and breathing laboriously. He 
had allowed his beard to grow, and two wooden legs 
had been fastened to his thighs, a little above the 
knees. As his glance fell upon Laroque his poor 
face lighted up and his eyes filled with tears. 

Roger ! ” he cried. “ My friend, my brother ! — 
Aye, my brother ! '' 

He tried to rise, but failed, and Roger prevented a 
further attempt. He sprang toward him, and for a 
moment each held the other clasped in his arms as 
upon that deadly plain near Garenne, before that fatal 
charge. 

“ What a condition you find me in, my poor 
friend ! Lucien remarked, pointing to his legs. 

Dr. Champeaux has told me all ; and I know that, 
but for you, I should be lying dead out yonder there, 
at this moment. Ah ! had it not been better to let 
me die ? You did me but poor service, Roger ! " 
He sighed deeply, then took Laroque’s hand in his. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. I43 

‘‘No, no,” he said; “I am selfish and ungrateful! 
Were 1 dead Julia and my lads would be penniless, 
without even bread for their mouths. Living, I can 
still give them ease and plenty ; for though I may no 
longer stand at the bar, I can yet have a consulting 
office. You have therefore done well in saving my 
life, Roger, and, in the names of my wife and chil- 
dren, 1 thank you.” 

De Noirville then related the story of his long con- 
valescence and how the devoted care of the doctor and 
his family had restored him to life. He was also 
thirsting to hear what had befallen Laroqiie, and re- 
quired him to give a detailed account of his adven- 
tures. 

When he finally became so tired and weak that his 
voice was scarcely audible, Roger rose to go, but 
Lucien insisted upon sending for his wife. When 
Julia appeared he said to her : 

“ This is Roger Laroque whom we used to meet 
occasionally in society before the war. I happened 
to be able to save his life, and he has largely repaid 
the debt. I love him like a brother and I trust that 
henceforth our families may be as one.” 

She bowed in silence and accompanied Roger as he 
left the room. As he was about to take his departure, 
after saluting her with the same cold bow he had 
formerly given her, she seized him by the arm — and 
her grasp seemed as if made of iron. Strange lights 
gleamed in her dark eyes. 

“ So 1 ” she said. “ You wont even speak to me I ” 

He merely pointed to the chamber of her crippled 
husband, and, after a moment’s silence, said sternly : 


144 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


“ Through pity, if not through love for him, be 
still ! ” 

But the young woman seemed to have gone mad. 
Her anger increased at his words, and she cried : 

It is finished then between us ? Quite finished 
forever ? ” 

Roger made a disturbed gesture. His eyes were 
anxious and troubled, and it was evident that he was 
suffering greatly. 

“ If I knew,” he said, any means of effacing the 
horrible, guilty memories that exist between us, I 
would employ them at the price of even the most cruel 
sacrifices without hesitation or regret — with joy and 
eagerness, even if I thereby should lose either my 
fortune or my life ! ” 

Roger ! Roger ! ” she pleaded, interrupting him. 
But he continued in a lower tone, with still deeper 
sadness : 

Your duty is plainly discernible, Julia. Crippled, 
isolated as Lucien now is, he has need of your entire 
devotion ; give it to him and your sin will grow less 
weighty. For my own part I know no means of effac- 
ing mine, God help me ! I fear that I must bear its 
burden through my whole life.” 

Roger, you will not leave me without one word of 
love ? ” 

‘‘ Adieu, Julia.” 

Roger, Roger ! It is unworthy of you — it is terri- 
ble ! What ! You mean it ? ” 

Yes.” 

Very well then, listen to me,” she said, in a quick, 
hurried tone, broken by angry inflections. Listen to 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQDE. I45 

me, Roger. I love you ;_I cannot help it. It is not 
my fault, it is rather my excuse. But my love may 
change to hate. I am_of a race whom it is well to 
guard against — for we are extreme in everything. I 
will never forgive you, and if some day some great 
evil befalls you, recollect that perhaps I may not be 
entirely innocent of its cause.” 

Months rolled by, during which the situation re- 
mained unchanged. In the very nature of things, and 
without Roger being able to prevent it, Julia and 
Mme. Laroque met frequently either at one house or 
the other, without however feeling any great attraction 
toward each other. 

In this wa}^’ Julia had constant opportunity of meet- 
ing Roger, and on every occasion when she was unable 
to address him in speech, her eyes pleaded for her. 
But Roger remained inflexible, and Lucien continued 
utterly ignorant and unsuspicious. 

His health remained very precarious, at the mercy 
of the least imprudence or indiscretion, and Mme. de 
Noirville, either through dissimulation or from a 
desire to stifle remorse and attain forgetfulness 
through the accomplishment of her duty, redoubled 
her care of him. 

Some lucky speculations at the Bourse, directed by 
one Luversan, had put the lawyer for the present 
beyond the dread of want and gave him time to seek 
new clients. Besides this, M. de Ferrand had extri- 
cated his affairs from embarrassment and had given 
him an introduction to the new branch of his pro- 
fession which was of great service. 

The war had been fatal to Roger’s business. Public 


146 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQDE. 

confidence had been badly shaken, and notwithstand- 
ing the business revival which followed the war, the 
blow which the Laroque house had sustained had 
been a severe one, requiring all Roger’s intelligence, 
energy, and prudence to keep the concern still afloat. 

Thus it was that Roger, after meeting his obliga- 
tions with exceeding difficulty, — but still meeting them 
all the same, — had reached the summ’er of 1872 upon 
which our story opened. 

The difficulties which menaced the factory in the 
Rue Saint Maur were well known in Paris. It was 
felt that a breath of mischance, the slightest accident, 
would bring to destruction this old and honorable 
house, which had withstood so many tempests and had 
come victoriously out of so many severe encounters. 

And this accident had been the sudden death of 
Celestin Vaubernon, the Lyons manufacturer and 
Laroque's very considerable creditor. 

Vaubernon had no time to make a will, and his 
fortune had reverted purely and simply, without 
legacies,^ charges, or conditions of any sort to his only 
nephew, Larouette, who was put into immediate pos- 
session of his inheritance. 

While the business of this succession was being 
settled, Julia one day received a visit, during the 
afternoon, from a young man of about twenty-five 
years of age, who was tall and very dark, with exceed- 
ingly broad, muscular shoulders. 

This was the broker who had undertaken de Noir- 
ville’s speculations. Julia knew him by sight, having 
met him several times in her husband’s study. 

One day even, while he was waiting to see de Noir- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, I47 

ville, standing in the salon with his back turned to 
the door, she had made a singular mistake. Uncon- 
scious of his presence in the house she had entered 
the room and, mistaking him for Laroque, had advanced 
quickly, exclaiming : 

“ Roger ! One word — ” 

He turned and she uttered a cry. It was Luversan. 
His carriage of the head, figure, and breadth of 
shoulders, dark skin, and heavy beard were those .of 
Laroque — but there all resemblance ceased. His 
eyes were hard, the pupils bloodshot ; his nose was 
larger, with dilating nostrils ; the brow lower and the 
eyebrows heavier. 

Who was this man who was so like Roger ? 

Intelligent, shrewd, and unscrupulous, he had begun 
life as clerk in a shop. He had been employed at the 
Louvre where he remained a year. When war was 
declared he disappeared from sight. He floated from 
one army to the other serving as spy, first on the French, 
and then on the Prussian side, having but one object 
in view — which was to gain sufficient money to estab- 
lish himself when peace should .be declared. 

During the days which preceded the battle of Coul- 
miers, Laroque, then quartermaster, was one morning 
pursuing a path in the forest of Marchenoir, whither 
he and thirty foot soldiers, commanded by a lieutenant, 
had been dispatched on a reconnoitering expedition, 
when they suddenly met a peasant running at full 
speed to inform them that an advance-guard of the 
Prussian infantry, composed of twenty men, had in- 
stalled themselves at a short distance from there in a 
farm-house, at Mazures. The lieutenant made a sign 


14 ^ THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


to Roger, who advanced to the man, and, presenting 
his loaded revolver at his head, said ; 

you are deceiving us, I will blow your brains 

out.” 

The peasant, a very tall fellow with a dark skin and 
broad shoulders, did not reply, but looked at him with 
a strange persistency as if he had seen him before. 

They approached the outpost and surrounded it. 
After making a show of resistance the Prussians laid 
down their arms, and the French unsuspectingly pro- 
ceeded to make them prisoners, when suddenly, from 
cellars, granaries, stables, and coach-houses, issued 
forth two hundred bayonets and two hundred helmeted 
heads. The French had fallen into a trap. 

Furious with rage, Roger sought to discover the 
peasant, but in vain ; he had completely disappeared. 

Fortunately, Laroque escaped the very same evening- 
while marching through Marchenoir. 

Three days later, after the defeated Prussian army 
had abandoned Orleans, Roger saw a peasant crossing 
the Place du Martroi whom he thought he recognized 
as the one who had betrayed him and his comrades to 
the Germans. He hastily followed, and verified his 
suspicions. With the help of his companions Roger 
succeeded in stopping the fellow. 

Two hours later the man was tried and condemned 
to be shot. He had declared that his name was 
Mathias Zuber of Luxembourg and confessed that he 
had entered the French camp as spy. The execution 
was postponed until the next morning at daybreak. 

When the platoon appeared before the prison gates 
in the early morning a vain search was made for the 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 149 


condemned man. He had pried out a bar from his 
window, jumped down into the court-yard, knocked 
down and strangled the guard before the latter could 
cry out and, under the protection of the French uni- 
form which he had assumed, had made his escape un- 
noticed. 

Two lines were afterwards found written in the 
plaster of his cell walls : 

‘‘ To the non-commissioned officer of cavalry who 
caused my arrest and failed in his efforts to have me 
executed — I await my revenge ! 

Mathias Zuber.” 

Mathias Zuberand Luversan were one and the same. 
Mme. de Noirville, having been summoned by the 
servant, entered the salon where the adventurer 
awaited her. 

“ You wished to see me, monsieur ? 

Yes, madame.” 

“ I am listening,” she said, somewhat anxiously, for 
this man frightened her unaccountably, she knew not 
why. 

He paused a moment ; then, in a short, rough 
tone — wherein, however, there was scarcely a trace of 
provincial accent — he began to disclose first, whom 
he was and secondly, what his plan was. 

What he was and what he had been, he told Mme. 
de Noirville, was of slight consequence. What would 
be of interest to her was the fact that one day, in a 
shop in the Louvre, he had surprised the secret of her 
connection with Laroque, and of the loan that she had 
effected in order to escape a divorce suit threatened 
by her husband. 


ISO THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 

What was his motive in seeking her ? Revenge. 
He thirsted for an opportunity to revenge himself 
upon Laroque, and it would not matter in the slightest 
to Mine, de Noirville what caused his hatred or 
whence sprang his desire for revenge. Why did he 
tell her all this ? Because he had discovered the 
rupture between Julia and Laroque, and divined that 
she, herself, also hated this man. How did he expect 
to secure his revenge? Thajt was his own secret; 
but the revenge would be complete, irremediable. 

Julia listened to him in terror. Everything about 
the man inspired loathing, and she trembled at being 
at the merc3^*of such a creature. She longed at first 
to deny all ; but he shared the secret of her love, and 
had penetrated the hidden depths of her heart. It 
was necessary to bow to the inevitable. 

‘‘Very well,” she said, at last ; “so be it ! You 
wish to avenge yourself ; so do I. But first I must 
make a final attempt at reconciliation. I ask for a few 
days ; will you wait ? ” 

He bowed, accepting the delay. 

The next day Julia encountered Laroque in her 
own house. 

“ Roger,” she said, “ you are pitiless, but I love you 
still the same ! ” 

Without making her any reply he passed by and 
entered Lucien’s (iiamber. When he came out she 
was waiting for him and retarded his departure. 

“ Roger,” she pleaded, “for the last time! If you 
force me to it I can find it in me to hate you bitterly, 
and you have much to dread from my hatred.” 

Overcome with regret Roger cast one sorrowful, 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 15 1 

speechless glance at Lucien’s chamber and withdrew 
without answering. ' 

Eight days later Mathias Zuber presented himself 
again in the Rue de Rome. 

I give you carte blanche^' said Julia, whose pene- 
trating glance forced the miscreant to drop his eyes. 
“ Avenge yourself, and at the same time avenge me ! ” 

He smiled, bowed, and departed. He had business 
relations with Larouette, who speculated at the 
Bourse, and he was aware of the Vaubernon inheri- 
tance. It was by his perfidious advice that Larouette 
withdrew his uncle’s money from Laroque’s keeping, 
resisting, at Luversan’s instigation, all Roger’s en- 
treaties for delay. 

The same evening upon which Larouette came into 
possession of the money left him by his uncle, as he 
was counting his wealth with avaricious pleasure in 
his cottage at Ville d’Avray, Mathias Zuber, his con- 
fidant and adviser, entered to rob him. 

Our readers will recall the details of the murder. 
Zuber was aware of his resemblance to Laroque, and 
that if in broad daylight detection of his im'posture 
would be probable, at night he might easily pass, for 
the mechanician. 

And he had made the most of his resemblance. 
He had come to Ville d’Avray to rob, not to murder. 
He had reckoned upon Larouette’s being asleep to 
rob him unseen. He had not anticipated his victim’s 
resistance, and crazed with fear he killed him, that 
Larouette, who had recognized him, might never be 
able to bring him to justice. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


'^HE payment which he had been obliged to make 
1 Larouette created deep despair in Roger La- 
roque’s breast. It meant ruin to himself, his business, 
and hopes. The friends to whom he applied for aid 
had long known how precarious was his situation, and 
answered his appeals with offers that were absurdly 
inadequate. In vain he sought relief ; everywhere 
he met the same chilling distrust. He knew that he 
was on the verge of ruin. 

Lucien alone loved him well enough to sacrifice his 
all to him ; but he was poor and utterly unable to 
serve him. Besides Roger was unwilling to take de 
Noirville into his confidence, being loath out of deli- 
cacy to let Julia suspect how terribly her loan had in- 
volved him, and fearing too that, in order to repay 
him the* 100,000 francs which had saved her from 
scandal, she might commit some foolish act of im- 
prudence. 

And yet what a means of salvation those 100,000 
francs would have been ! Despite himself he could 
not help dwelling upon the subject. He thought of 
it continually, not regretfully exactly, but longingly, 
as one thinks of a dead friend. 

Evert had he stooped to ask Julia to refund this 
sum, she could not have complied with his request. 
Where could she have obtained so large an amount ? 


152 


THE 'shadow of ROGER LAROQUE, 153 

For eight weary days he did his utmost to secure a 
reprieve from Larouette, begging him with all the 
earnestness and entreaty at his command to give him 
sufficient time to procure the means of meeting his 
engagements, but he soon discovered that he was 
beating against a rock. And at last he became con- 
vinced that there was no hope, that failure and ruin 
were staring him in the face. 

The night upon which the murder was committed 
saw him well-nigh crazed with despair and anxiety. 
He had hoped till the last moment that Larouette 
might yield. He had left his office about three o’clock 
in the afternoon, and had wandered aimlessly about 
the streets of Paris, .With his brain on fire and agony 
and despair in his heart, he kept up his ceaseless, pur- 
poseless promenade for long weary hours, neither 
knowing nor caring whither he went, aiming only at 
relieving his mind at the expense of his body. 

At ten o’clock he found himself led, as if by in- 
stinct, to the station of Saint Lazare. He had for- 
gotten to dine, but felt no hunger although he was con- 
sumed by an intolerable thirst. He drank several 
glasses of beer, standing at the counter, and then en- 
tered the train. Half an hour later he got off at 
Ville d’Avray. 

He had withheld his business embarrassment from 
his wife’s knowledge, hoping up to the last moment 
to be able to extricate himself, and thus spare her 
anxiety. And now that he saw himself driven to 
acknowledge to her the ruin of that honorable old 
house which her father had bequeathed to him in a 
prosperous condition ; now that he felt obliged to pre- 


154 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

pare Henriette for povert}^ and hardship, he trembled 
with fear. 

He dared not return to his home, being overcome 
with longing to postpone the telling of his sad tale 
and knowing that his troubled, harassed face and 
manner would lead her to suspect some evil. He was 
no longer his own master; his brain whirled and ached 
with long planning and the agony of desperation. 

He turned aside into the woods behind his house 
and wandered purposelessly through them, threading 
their thick mazes with vacant mind and weary, feeble 
limbs. Occasionally he stopped and ejaculated 
abrupt, incoherent phrases : 

My poor wife ! My poor little Suzanne ! ” 

Then he would recommence his vague wandering, 
straying into blind paths that led him into thorny 
thickets through which he would force his way with 
set teeth and a desperate determination to conquer 
something, even though it were only nature, tearing 
and soiling his clothes and scratching his hands, in 
utter oblivion of everything save that one haunting, 
wretched thought : 

“ Ruined ! Dishonored ! My life is finished ! 

And ever before him, like ghostly, reproachful 
shadows, loomed the sad figures of his wife and child. 

At last, having come to the end of his strength, he 
dropped wearily upon a bank and fell to dreaming, 
shivering every now and then with inward fever. He 
had reached the edge of the wood near the lake-side. 
The moonlight silvered the calm water and the night 
was so still that not a leaf stirred in the tree-tops, not 
a bough cracked in the forest. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 155 

The day had been very hot, and occasional flashes 
of lightning illuminated the distant horizon with vivid 
tongues of red and blue fire, which revealed, inter- 
mittently, the trunks of oak, beech, and birch trees. 
Everything about him seemed tranquil and happy. 
The night brought forth the subtle odors of plants 
and wild flowers, of herbs and lichens, of ferns and 
bracken ; but he heard, felt, and saw nothing. 

His gaze remained obstinately fixed upon a pretty 
house on the opposite side of the lake, whose garden, 
adorned with flower-beds and terraces, sloped gradu- 
ally down to the banks. It was there that his little 
Suzanne was sleeping, there that his wife was doubt- 
less awaiting him, notwithstanding the lateness of the 
hour. That roof for many years had given shelter to 
his love, happiness, and the persons of those dearest 
to him in all the world. Must he say farewell to it 
forever ? 

Slowly he rose and wended his way homeward. 
He skirted the lake and paused once more to consider 
the invitation to oblivion extended by its cool, dark 
waters. Would it not be better to end life here and 
now with one short plunge than to begin the struggle 
for the means of a new existence ? 

Instinctively his gaze again sought the villa. He 
longed for death, yet he felt that he could not seek it 
until his eyes had rested once more upon his wife and 
child. He went on, reached the house, opened the 
door, and entered the hall. All was still as death 
within the house. 

“ They must all be asleep,” he muttered to himself. 

He listened at Henriette’s door. Silence. Then 


156 THE SHADOW OF 2 WGER LAROQUE. 

he passed on into his own apartments and fell wearily 
into a chair before his desk, burying his wan face in 
his hands in an outburst of misery. 

And thus it was, in this attitude of hopeless de- 
spondency, that he was seen by Suzanne and Henriette. 

Still haunted by the thought of suicide he had taken 
a revolver from one of his drawers, thrown aside his 
coat, and placed its muzzle against his breast. But 
before him again arose the vision of Henriette and his 
little daughter. He tossed the revolver aside and sat 
there all night, never closing his eyes but absorbed in 
the wretched agony of his situation. 

When, the next morning, he held his wife and child 
in his arms, he felt his resolve waver. Would not his 
death condemn them, these helpless, innocent beings, 
to misery ? A reaction set in and he became almost 
gay. Yet he could not summon sufficient courage to 
acquaint Henriette with the sad news of his impending 
ruin. 

'‘To-morrow I will do it,” he promised himself. 
“ Let her have one day more of careless happiness.” 

But he felt an imperative necessity to hear her 
assurance that she loved him ; that, as he suggested 
to her, she should continue to love him no matter what 
might happen ; that she should love him as long as she 
lived. 

When he set out for Paris, about nine o’clock in the 
morning, Larouette’s murder was still undiscovered. 
He went directly to the Boulevard Malesherbes, 
where, in a dainty little apartment, he possessed sev- 
eral works of art of considerable intrinsic value which 
he purposed converting into money. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 15 7 

He had been there scarcely half an hour when the 
concierge appeared bearing a small packet inclosed in 
an envelope, together with a letter, both addressed to 
him, which a lady, whom the fellow had discovered to 
be both young and pretty, — notwithstanding the fact 
that she was closely veiled, — had just left in his 
charge. 

One glance was sufficient for Roger to identify the 
handwriting, even had he not recognized the delicate 
perfume that the letter exhaled. He felt a sensation 
of anger against this woman. What did she want of 
him now ? Was she determined to annoy him for- 
ever ? 

He hastened after the concierge to tell him to return 
the packet to Julia, but she was already gone; so, 
with an impatient gesture he tore open the letter. 

Some one who knows your distress,” it ran, and 
whom you once aided, desires to assist you now, in her 
turn, by repaying your loan. You will find in the 
other inclosure the 100,000 francs due you. Ven- 
geance is thus accomplished ! Adieu ! ” 

When he undertook to break the seal of the other 
envelope his hand shook so that he was obliged to 
pause. His brow and cheeks had suddenly become 
suffused with a violent crimson. He seized a pair of 
scissors and burst the seal open. 

It was indeed true ! — he was not dreaming ! — the 
letter had not lied ! 

Several rolls of bank-notes rolled out and fluttered 
down upon the carpet. Julia had indeed fulfilled her 
word and avenged herself — but how nobly ! Roger 
was completely overpowered by her magnanimity, de- 


15 ^ THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

spite the joy and relief that this reprieve granted. His 
sin pressed more heavily than ever upon his heart, and 
he felt the utter impossibility of ever atoning for it or 
of escaping from its remorseful consequences. 

He felt that Julia was partially redeeming her sin 
by^her generous conduct toward him, and that her out- 
raged love was working out its own salvation by 
manifesting such unselfish forgiveness of the slight 
he had imposed upon it. She, he felt, had some 
excuse for her fault, in the fact that it was born of a 
great and absorbing passion, while he had sinned 
without being able to plead extenuating circum- 
stances, for he knew that he neither loved now, nor 
ever had loved, de Noirville’s wife. 

And so his troubled mind dwelt incessantly upon 
one constantly recurring idea : By what tremendous 
sacrifice can I ever rehabilitate myself in my own 
regard ?” 

He tore up Julia’s letter, and, that no traces might 
remain of it, burned it to ashes ; then carefully de- 
posited the 100,000 francs in his pocket-book, and at 
once set off with them to Rue Saint Maur. 

Jean Guerrier placed them in the safe without even 
counting them. 

But this sum was insufficient. Fifty thousand francs 
were still lacking to enable Laroque to meet his next 
day’s payments. He at first thought of applying again 
to his friends, thinking they might be willing to make 
him a loan so much smaller than what he had pre- 
viously requested ; but his pride restrained him. 

Although no gambler, he concluded to try his luck 
at cards, resolving to stop when he should begin to 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. i59 

lose, and sufficiently sure of himself not to fear 
becoming deeply involved. As it happened luck was 
with him and he gained steadily. 

One of the players at the baccarat table seemed ob- 
stinately bent upon defeating him. He was a new 
member of the club and Roger did not know him. 
He had been introduced as M. Luversan. 

Although this name was not at all familiar to him, 
yet Laroque felt convinced that he had met the man 
before. After trying vainly to recall where he had 
known him, he abandoned the attempt as hopeless, 
and gave the subject no further thought. 

During the evening one of the club members, whom 
Roger had mentioned to the commissary as the Baron 
de Ce, entered the room, and coming up behind Lu- 
versan slapped him familiarly on the back, exclaiming 
You here, Roger ! ” 

Luversan had turned quickly, and M. de Ce had at 
once observed his mistake. 

‘‘ A thousand pardons, monsieur ! I took you for 
M. Laroque.” 

“ You are very excusable, monsieur,” Luversan had 
replied, with a good-natured smile. ‘‘The same mis- 
take has been made frequently at the Bourse.” 

After a courteous bow had been exchanged between 
them, the game had continued its course, and Roger, 
who held the bank, scarcely noticed the incident. 
When he left the club with his winnings of 50,000 
francs, he went directly to the station. The last 
train was just starting, and about one o’clock in the 
morning he reached the villa. 

He felt gay and light-hearted. Hope in the future 


l6o the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

was revived in his breast since the haunting fear of 
failure and disaster had vanished. 

Henriette and Suzanne, who were still up, heard 
him, as he undressed, whistling the little rondeau 
which the child loved, and they likewise listened to 
him singing it again as he made his morning toilet. 

He had borne so much suffering these last few 
days that, now the load was lifted, he felt the need of 
expressing his relief aloud. 

This was the morning on which he went to the 
mairie to give the commissary of police what informa- 
tion he possessed concerning Larouette. This was 
also the same morning on which he paid into the 
hands of Jean Guerrier, his cashier, the sum of 50,000 
francs won by him the previous evening. 

This was the very morning, moreover, upon which 
M. Lienard paid his visit to the Rue Saint Maur, and 
upon which Laroque was arrested and sent to Ver- 
sailles to submit to an examination by the prosecuting 
officer in charge of the inquest. 

We will now resume the broken thread of our nar- 
rative. 


CHAPTER IX. 


R oger was conducted to the prison at Versailles, 
and his examination postponed until the next 

day. 

M. de Lignerolles, the juge d' instruction^ who had 
been thoroughly informed by M. Lacroix regarding 
the preliminary investigation, was awaiting more con- 
clusive proofs before overwhelming Laroque with the 
mighty mass of circumstantial evidence against him. 

The judge’s opinion was conclusively established. 
The results obtained by M. Li^nard’s investigation, 
transmitted from Paris, together with those reported 
by Lacroix, left him in no doubt as to the mechani- 
cian’s guilt. 

When, on the day after his arrest, Roger appeared 
before the judge, he was wretchedly pale and hag- 
gard. He had passed a sleepless night, occupying 
the terrible lagging hours with vain efforts to discover 
some means of proving his innocence without betray- 
ing Julia and his own past sin. But in truth this was 
utterly impossible. 

To confess that he had lent Julia 100,000 francs 
would be tantamount to acknowledging their past 
relations, which would mean dishonor not only to the 
woman who had sinned through love of him, but dis- 
honor also to that poor defenseless cripple, Lucien, 
161 


i 62 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

his well-beloved friend. This he could not do, even 
if his life should be the forfeit. 

He had long wished for an occasion of expiating 
his sin by some great act of devotion to his friend, 
and for a long time this occasion had seemed to him 
unattainable. Suddenly it was offered him — an op- 
portunity as exacting in its terrible demands as he 
could have found it possible to wish for ; a supreme 
expiation, a mighty atonement. 

And he stood ready to accept it, though he well 
knew its consequences meant disgrace, poverty, sever- 
ance from all he loved, imprisonment, ay, even death 
itself perchance. One hope, one joyful conviction, 
that almost redeemed his terrible fate from its gloom, 
alone remained to him. 

‘‘Never,” he told himself, as he wearily paced up 
and down the narrow cell in which they had confined 
him, “ never will Henriette or Suzanne believe me 
guilty ! I shall be permitted to see them once more 
in any event, and I will say to them, ‘ I am innocent.* 
That will suffice to confirm their belief in me, in spite 
of all appearances ; and I shall never feel quite aban- 
doned and desolate while I know that in some little 
corner of the world two tender hearts still remain 
faithful to me — those of my wife and my child.” 

Yet, when the sun began slowly to rise in the morn- 
ing sky, he was overwhelmed by a sudden, terrible 
access of despair. He thrust his hands fiercely into 
the masses of his short, thick hair, and clinched his 
head tight between his palms as he muttered : 

“ I, in prison for murder and theft — I ! Impossi- 
ble ! But I can defend myself. Can I not exonerate 


• THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 163 

myself without betraying Julia? Assuredly, — and 
shall I not do so ? I will, I must ! Yes, I can easily 
clear myself from this hideous charge ! ” 

But when his mind ran over the list of overwhelm- 
ing proofs that had accumulated against him, he bit 
his lips with impotent fury, repeating over and over 
again, in a heavy, lifeless voice : 

What shall I do ? What shall I do ?” 

As, escorted by two gendarmes, he was finally 
ushered into M. de Lignerolles’s office, he hastened 
toward the judge, saying, hurriedly and boldly : 

“ Monsieur, I swear to you that I am innocent ! 
It is outrageous to disgrace an honest man in such a 
fashion ! All my past life bears witness in my favor. 
I am innocent, monsieur; I am, believe me ! ” 

M. de Lignerolles made no reply. He had taken a 
rapid survey of Laroque and was greatly surprised at 
his appearance. 

The strong, intelligent face of the prisoner bespoke 
fatigue and bitter shame and suffering, but there was 
no trace upon its firm, honest lineaments of the vul- 
gar criminal, and the dark eyes, through their veil of 
tears, looked forth and met his with a frank, straight- 
forward gaze. 

“He must be a clever actor,” the judge said to 
himself. 

He pointed to a chair, but Roger declined it and 
remained standing, with his hands clasped together 
in nervous uncertainty, looking fixedly and beseech- 
ingly at M. de Lignerolles — for he felt that his only 
hope of salvation lay in the chance of convincing this 
man of his innocence. 


164 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

But the judge did not appear to be moved by his 
simple, earnest protestation, and began at once with 
the preliminary formalities of the examination. 

“You are accused of murder, followed by robbery,” 
said he, and then went on with a painful interroga- 
tory which at first dealt with minor points. 

How had Laroque passed the evening of the mur- 
der ? Roger’s attempts to reply to this question 
simply resulted in bringing a skeptical smile to M. 
de Lignerolles’s lips. In vain Roger tried to explain 
to him that he had spent the hours wandering aim- 
lessly about Paris, a prey to the gloomiest preoccu- 
pation, and haunted by the threatening phantom of 
approaching failure. In vain he related how, from 
eleven o’clock till midnight, he had wandered through 
the forest of Ville d’Avray, fearing to go home lest 
his wife should read the miserable tidings of impend- 
ing disaster in his wretched countenance. 

‘?Can you prove to me,” asked the judge, “ that 
you wandered about as you say ? Cannot you bring 
some witness to testify in your favor ? ” 

“ I met no one,” Laroque replied. . He was utterly 
unable to explain the soiled and torn condition of his 
clothing, the scratch upon his hand, or any of the 
manifold trifles that had arisen against him. 

All that he could say in refutation of the empty 
cylinder in his revolver was that on the morning 
before the murder he had fired it at a raven perched 
on a willow tree. 

The judge proceeded to the graver charges. He 
recapitulated the results achieved by M Lienard and 
the expert, Ricordot, together with the discovery of 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 165 


the incriminating bank-notes ; and by degrees, as he 
continued his enumeration of facts, Roger’s head fell 
in despair upon his breast. When, at length, M. de 
Lignerolles paused and demanded what the prisoner 
had to say in reply, Roger simply muttered : 

“ I am not guilty. There is a fatality against me.” 

When M. de Lignerolles asked how he gained pos- 
session of the money he had paid Larouette, Roger re- 
plied : 

You can believe whatever you choose.” 

Even supposing that for a moment I admit the 
existence of a creditor,” suggested M. de Lignerolles, 
^^you must know something about him. How do 
you account for his having gained possession of 
Larouette’s money ? One of you must have com- 
mitted the murder, and if you do not desire to 
pass for his accomplice I advise you to tell us his 
name.” 

The judge’s insinuation fell upon Roger as if he 
had been struck with a whip-lash, causing him to 
tingle in every nerve. 

Could it be possible that Julia had murdered Laro- 
uette ? The idea was so absurd, how^ever, that he 
simply shrugged his shoulders as he considered its 
impossibility. Yet, had she not once said to him : 

If any evil ever happens to you, remember that I 
may not be innocent of its cause ! ” 

He had paid no heed to her words, regarding them 
simply as a woman’s threat. 

As to the members of the club who had banked 
against him that night, the police had found nothing 
on which to hang a thread of suspicion. Their honor- 


1 66 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

able standing was above question, and Luversan had 
taken every precaution to cover up his tracks. 

My creditor is as undeserving of suspicion as I,” 
returned Roger, ‘‘and it would not help the case, in the 
least, to name him. I have already declined to speak 
his name, and I beg you to spare me the necessity of 
another refusal.” 

“ You will ruin yourself ; I warn you of it.” 

‘‘ It is a matter between me and my conscience.” 

M. de Lignerolles appeared to hesitate a moment ; 
then he said : 

“ There is yet one more proof of which we have 
hitherto refrained from speaking, but which is the 
most terrible, irrefutable, and damning of all.” 

“ May I not hear it at once ? Possibly I may be 
able to contradict it more easily and credibly than any 
of the others.” 

“You were seen as you entered Larouette's cottage, 
a moment before the murder took place.” 

“ I ? I ? ” Roger reiterated, utterly confounded. 

“ You were even observed as you committed the 
crime — ” 

“ I ? — Some one saw fne ! who ? ” 

“ Two witnesses : a woman and a little girl.” 

“A woman ! A little girl ! Ah ! — ah !” he cried, 
smiling, as if in evident relief. “ Now I am relieved 
indeed, for this must clearly establish my innocence. 
This woman and little girl saw the murderer, you say ; 
send for them to come here and look at me. They 
will tell you if they recognize me ?” 

“ We are about to confront you with them.” 

“ And why not now, at once ? When they see me 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 167 

they will set this mistake right. I am innocent, there- 
fore I cannot be identified as the murderer. You will 
be obliged to discharge me at once. Here I have 
been twenty-four hours in prison already, and I am 
longing to breathe freedom again, and to be able to 
congratulate myself upon the fact that I am still what 
I have ever been — an honest man. For, in truth, no 
matter how conscious I am of my own innocence, I 
am ashamed of this accusation which rests upon me, 
and I feel it almost a disgrace to be thought capable 
of committing such hideous crimes.” 

The judge pointed to a waiting-room adjoining his 
office. 

^^You shall be satisfied in a few moments,” he said 
briefly. 

Each one of these moments will seem a life-time, 
monsieur,” Laroque remarked, smiling. However, 
with hope to cheer me — ” and he went out, accom- 
panied by the two gendarmes. 

In a corner of the judge’s office, at a small desk, a 
stenographer — a wrinkled, bald-headed, old fellow — 
had been taking down Laroque's responses, which M. 
de Lignerolles now read over to assure himself that 
he had omitted nothing. Having finished, he said to 
the stenographer : 

Show in Mme. Laroque, alone.” 

The man was absent a moment and then returned, 
respectfully ushering in Henriette. The night before 
she had received a letter from the jiige d' instruction 
commanding her to present herself at his office, with 
her child. Being aware of her husband’s arrest, she 
had expected the summons, which she had obeyed with 
both fear and resolution. 


l68 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

As they left home, Suzanne asked : 

Where are you taking me, mother ? ” 

‘‘ To Versailles, my darling,*’ Henriette replied. 
‘‘To Versailles, where you will be made to suffer 
again.” 

“ Don’t be afraid, mother ; I shall remember ! ” 

They made the journey from Ville d’Avray to Ver- 
sailles in the corner of a first-class compartment. 
Not a word was exchanged between them ; but Su- 
zanne never for one instant loosened her clasp of her 
mother’s waist, while, by a merely mechanical move- 
ment, the restless hand of the nearly distracted 
woman unceasingly caressed the child’s brow, and her 
pretty, fair hair. 

As she preceded the stenographer into the apart- 
ment, she was so pale that it seemed as if every drop 
of bloodhad left her body. Her beautiful eyes looked 
distraught and her hands worked with a strange, 
feverish movement of intense restlessness. 

M. de Lignerolles offered her a chair, into which 
she sank exhausted. 

“ The duty I am charged with concerning you is a 
most painful one, madame,” began the judge. “You 
undoubtedly suspect the motive which has induced me 
to summon you hither. I dislike extremely to be 
obliged to recommence the cruel interrogatory to 
which you have already been subjected, and whose 
details M. Lacroix has transmitted to me.” 

“ You might the more readily spare me this repeti- 
tion, monsieur, as I have nothing, not even a syllable 
to alter or add to what I have already told M. Lacroix.” 

“ No, madame, I cannot ; for I hope that for your 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 169 

own and your husband’s sake I may induce you to 
make your replies fuller and more exact — for your 
continued refusal to tell what you know of Larouette’s 
murder will secure Laroque’s condemnation. Assure 
me that you did not recognize your husband in the 
murderer, and describe the real assassin to me, and all 
will go well ; but I beg of you not to maintain that 
you did not witness the crime.” 

“ Yet such is the truth, nevertheless,” she replied 
firmly, strong in her heroic resolution. 

“ We are about to confront you with your late maid.” 

Victoire was introduced, and after a moment of em- 
barrassment as she found herself in her mistress’s 
presence — for she was not a bad sort of woman — she 
regained her countenance. 

“ Repeat to Mme. Laroque the deposition which you 
made to M. Lacroix and repeated to me,” ordered the 
judge. 

Victoire obeyed. Mme. Laroque listened and 
assumed an air of surprise. But she felt as if she 
were being strangled as she endeavored to reply when 
Victoire paused. 

This girl,” she said, “ has her head stuffed with 
novels and sensationalism. Her story is a monstrous 
tissue of invention and extravagance. Neither my 
daughter nor I did or said what she has asserted. 
Had it been true that we saw and called out to my 
husband from the balcony, is it not probable that he 
would have heard us and replied ; and that, seeing 
himself discovered, he would have abandoned his 
purpose ? This story is exceedingly improbable.” 

‘‘ It is unfortunately true, however, madame,” said 
Victoire. 


170 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

What have I ever done to you, my girl, that you 
should try to cause me such pain ? And what injury 
can my husband have done you that you should bring 
so grave a charge against him ? ” 

I have nothing against either of you, madame, and 
had it been possible for me to keep my information to 
myself, I should have done so,” the girl said ; after 
which she was permitted to retire. 

You see, madame,” the judge remarked, this 
girl’s deposition is extremely precise, and never varies 
in the repetition. You must have been an involuntary 
witness of the crime. What did you see ? ” 

I saw nothing, monsieur ; nor did I hear anything.” 

‘‘ Do not forget that your silence is your husband’s 
ruin.” 

‘‘ My husband’s entire life will vouch for his honor 
and witness in his favor.” 

Human weakness is without limit, madame, and 
scarcely a day passes that we do not witness tragedies 
as surprising and unexpected as this.” 

The stenographer ushered Henriette out and 
brought in Suzanne. 

Mme. Laroque had worn black as if in mourning 
for her love and happiness; Suzanne also was dressed 
in the same somber hue. Her cheeks glowed with 
the hot, hectic flush of fever, while her deep blue 
e3^es glittered with strange, unnatural brilliancy. She 
gazed at the judge with terror. 

M. de Lignerolles kissed her, and looked at her for 
some time in silence. 

‘‘ Well, little one,” he said, at last, “ are you going to 
be more sensible than you were yesterday ? Has any 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 17 1 


one been able to make you understand what a terri- 
ble injury you are going to do papa if you continue 
to refuse to tell what you saw, four nights ago, from 
your mother’s balcony ? ” 

‘‘ I saw nothing, monsieur.” 

Do not lie, my child. Lying is a sin. Was it 
some one else than papa whom you saw ? If so, don’t 
be afraid to say so, my dear. You love your father, 
I know, and if you refuse to speak he will be wretched 
and unhappy all the rest of his life. He suffers and 
weeps at being separated from his dear little girl ; 
and you, too, my child, will find life without him terri- 
bly long and sad.” 

I know nothing, nothing, monsieur, and I only 
wish — oh, how I wish that I might be left alone ! I 
am ill, monsieur, so ill that mamma did not wish to 
bring me here this morning, only I insisted. But I 
am really very ill, monsieur, and I don’t understand 
what people are troubling me so for — nor why dear 
mamma cries so, when I am being questioned.” 

She sobbed violently and trembled convulsively, 
while her teeth chattered as if in the paroxysms of 
fever. The crimson flush deepened upon her poor 
little cheeks, and her eyes grew darker and darker 
until they glowed like fiery coals from their deep 
sockets. 

“ I see ; you have agreed to admit nothing. Well, 
you have shown that you possess a woman’s courage, 
my child, and as far as I am concerned you shall rest 
in peace. I shall neither beseech nor menace you 
further, nor even endeavor to persuade you, as I did 
your mother, that the worst injury you can do your 


172 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 

father is to maintain silence regarding that night. 
No, little one ; another than I may charge himself 
with this task.” 

He sent the stenographer for Mme. Laroque again, 
and the first apprehensive glance of the young woman 
on entering was cast at Suzanne. 

Had the child been made to speak ? Suzanne 
returned her mother’s gaze with a steady, reassuring 
look, and a perfect understanding was established 
between them. Henriette knew that her child had 
been faithful to her word. She opened her arms 
yearningly, and Suzanne threw herself into them, 
weeping bitterly. 

Fortunately her tears relieved her burning brain, 
else the poor little body must have succumbed to the 
unnatural strain imposed upon it. 

M. de Lignerolles leaned toward the stenographer 
and whispered a few words in his ear. The man at 
once opened the door of the ante-room in which 
Roger was waiting. 

Laroque, you are wanted,” he called out. 

Roger obeyed the summons. The ante-room was 
so gloomy and ill-lighted that coming into the office 
from it was like passing from darkness into broad 
daylight. Roger paused upon the threshold and 
raised his eyes, which had hitherto been bent obsti- 
nately upon the ground. Before him stood his wife 
and child. 

M. de Lignerolles kept his glance fixed immovably 
upon them that he might not lose their slightest 
movement. 

Upon recognizing them Roger uttered a loud cry 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. I73 

of joy ; his face became suddenly illuminated as if in 
ecstasy, and he rushed forward with widespread arms, 
as if to clasp them both to his aching heart. 

Suzanne ! Henriette ! ” he cried joyously. My 
wife ! My own dear little girl ! ” 

But Henriette and Suzanne, recovering quickly 
from the first surprise incidental to the unexpected 
encounter, suddenly drew back from his touch, recoil- 
ing so visibly that it caused even the judge to shud- 
der. Instinct had triumphed even over the strong 
wills of these two, wills whose force had become 
lessened by the tortures to which they had been sub- 
jected. 

Ar tney looked upon Laroque, they beheld neither 
the husband nor father who had been so tenderly 
beloved, but the assassin, the murderer, with glitter- 
ing eyes, with heavy beard, and muscular arms, whom 
they had seen strangling Larouette with his large, 
powerful hands. It was the corpse also that they 
saw, that stiff, dead body of which the feet alone had 
been visible to them between the mahogany desk, 
with its rifled drawers, and the overturned table ! 

Laroque discovered their horror of him ; he looked 
troubled and shocked. 

“ What ! ” he stammered brokenly, you shun me ! 
I hold out my arms and you avoid my embrace ! 
How then am I changed ? Simply because an accu- 
sation, as absurd as it is odious, has been brought 
against me, have I ceased to become your father, 
Suzanne, and your husband, Henriette ? ” 

The mother and child had by this time recovered 
their self-control. Henriette divined how slight a 


174 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

movement or gesture might suffice to betray their 
secret and ruin her husband. She felt M. de Ligner- 
rolles’s gaze upon her and turned even whiter than 
before. She understood that this unexpected and 
hastily arranged meeting was simply a trap sprung 
upon her and Suzanne in order to make them betray 
themselves, and, making a violent effort, she con- 
trolled herself. ' 

Pressing Suzanne’s hand to intimate what she re- 
quired of her, she pushed her forward into her 
father’s arms. 

The child fell inertly into them, closing her eyes as 
she did so to shut out that haunting vision of the 
murdered man, of Larouette as he struggled in the 
fatal clasp which was now about her trembling frame. 

Laroque, suspecting nothing, had already forgotten 
his first fears, and, straining her tightly to his breast, 
he muttered over and over again, with yearning ten- 
derness : 

Suzanne, my daughter, my precious, well-beloved 
child ! ” Then, leaning forward, he included mother 
and child in the same passionate kiss. Henriette,” 
he murmured softly, “my dearest and best, how un- 
speakably happy I am to see you again ! ” and, sud- 
denly turning to M. de Lignerolles, who stood silently 
looking on, he said : 

“You are extremely kind, monsieur, to permit me 
to see my wife and child. They are all whom I have 
in the world to love me, and whatever may be the 
result of your inquiry, I, at least, shall ever be grateful 
to you for your generous recollection that I am a 
father — ” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 175 

“You have nothing to thank me for,” interrupted 
the judge coldly. 

“ Excuse me, monsieur,” Roger insisted. 

But M. de Lignerolles silenced him with a gesture. 

“ I told you a few moments ago,” he said, “ that 
you were observed by two witnesses when you en- 
tered Larouette’s cottage — and that you were also 
seen when you committed the murder — ” 

“ By a woman and little girl — yes, monsieur ; and I 
beg you not to delay longer confronting me with 
them.” 

M. de Lignerolles remained silent. 

Mme. Laroque, who was seated beside the stenog- 
rapher's desk, made a sudden, unguarded movement 
and drew into her lap and close within her arms, her 
poor little fainting child. She buried her lips in the 
loose, fair hair as the tiny head, with its obstinately 
closed eyes, rested upon her heaving breast. Surely 
she might well long for death for herself and her 
little one, that she might bury this horrible torture in 
its restful shadows and be again at peace ! 

Suddenly, a terrible light flashed upon Baroque’s 
mind. He had only to gaze at M. de Lignerolles, 
who was moved despite himself, and then at Henri- 
ette and Suzanne, to, divine the truth. 

He trembled, he shuddered violently as the awful 
certainty burst upon him. He gasped, choked, and 
his great, massive frame shook as if in the thrall of 
some mighty gust of passion. He threw out his arms, 
stretching forth his hands as if to ward off some fear- 
ful nightmare, or some unknown, unheard-of monster. 

“ God ! God ! Spare me ! For Christ’s sake. 


176 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

spare me further torture ! ” he groaned forth, in 
hoarse, desperate entreaty. 

He noticed that M. de Lignerolles was opening his 
lips as if about to speak, but he forestalled him. 

Monsieur,” he cried, in a loud, threatening tone, 
which was yet vibrant with entreaty, take care ! 
Don’t speak ! I beg you not to say it. What you 
are about to utter is blasphemous.” 

“You were seen,” the magistrate said, unmindful 
of his expostulations, “ by a mother and her child ; 
these two witnesses are now before you. They are 
your own wife and daughter.” 

Roger burst into a harsh, strident laugh, like that 
of a maniac. 

“ They saw me ! — saw me ! My wife and child saw 
me kill Larouette ! ” He rushed m.adly toward them, 
clutching them wildly by the hands and arms, bruis- 
ing and hurting them in his unconscious frenzy. 
“You saw me,” he cried, “both of you, it seems! 
You hear them say it was you who saw me ; why 
don’t you contradict it? Get up ! Say something to 
this man ! Tell this person who accuses me that he 
lies, that he speaks falsely when he declares that you 
saw Roger Laroque murder Larouette ; that it is im- 
possible for you to have seen him, since he did not do 
it. Tell him, swear to him, that Roger Laroque is 
innocent and incapable of committing a crime ! ” 

They said nothing. He shook their arms until 
they nearly cried out with pain, and yet they did not 
speak. Then he called out to them again, more 
violently still : 

“ Henriette ! Suzanne ! What has happened to 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. I77 


you ? Are you ill ? Dumb ? Why don’t you 
speak ? ” 

Henriette rose, her face wore the waxen hue of 
death. 

‘‘ M. de Lignerolles is wrong, Roger,” she said, 

when he tells you that we were witnesses of a mur- 
der. During the last three days Suzanne and I have 
been persecuted to acknowledge what we never saw. 
I can only repeat before you, in my own name and in 
that of my child, what we have already reiterated 
many times. We are ignorant as to how this murder 
was committed, and we cannot understand why you 
have been accused.” 

Ah ! Thank Heaven ! I breathe again, now that 
you have spoken. Do you know, that for a moment, 
I thought, yes, I thought — but no — what could I 
have thought ? How could you have seen me when I 
did not do it? What folly 1 But — I was afraid — yes, 
I confess, for a moment I was frightened.” He 
turned suddenly upon M. de Lignerolles. Why did 
you bring my wife and child here ? Why did you 
assert that they witnessed the murder? You tran- 
scend your authority as judge. You have just uttered 
a falsehood, which my wife has denied without con- 
tradiction from you.” 

The magistrate answered him gently, for he sin- 
cerely pitied Henriette and the brave little girl. 

It is proved that they saw — ” 

Proved ! ” cried Laroque, in surprise, controlling 
himself by a violent effort. Henriette, you hear 
what he says ; I have nothing more to say. It now 
remains for you to speak,” 


17S THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

That I cannot do/' the young wife replied gravely ; 
‘‘ for I do not know anything about what they exact 
of me.” 

It was now Laroque’s turn to question the judge. 

What is this enigma? ” he asked. 

M. de Lignerolles suppressed an impatient gesture 
and rang the bell. 

A gendarme appeared and he ordered him to bring 
in Mme. Laroque’s late maid. 

Victoire ! ” murmured Roger ; why Victoire ? ” 
and he anxiously awaited the judge’s explanation. 

M. de Lignerolles ordered the girl to repeat her 
deposition, which she accordingly did, very carefully, 
word for word, neither adding nor omitting anything. 
Gradually, as she spoke, a change became visible in 
Laroque’s countenance. By an immense tension of 
will he endeavored to understand the words. His 
mind seemed slipping from him, and he muttered, 
warningly : 

“ Look out for me ; I fear I am going mad ! ” 

Victoire’s declaration was followed by a long silence. 
Little by little Laroque awoke to a full comprehen- 
sion of the situation. 

Henriette and Suzanne had seen — but what ? 
They refused to speak. Why?* He must discover. 
He went forward and knelt before his wife with touch- 
ing grace and gentleness. He took her hands into 
his own and caressed them tenderly, stroking and 
soothing the twitching palms ; then, as if he were 
addressing a child, he said coaxingly : 

“ Tell the truth, dear. Is it true that you saw me ? 
You have denied it, haven’t you ! Up to this moment 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQC/E. 179 

you have pretended that you did not witness the mur- 
der ; and Suzanne has done so, too ? They have 
questioned you in vain, I know. But now, my wife, 
and you too, my darling little one, it has become nec- 
essary for you to speak and disclose all. I am ac- 
cused, it is true, but who knows but that your evidence 
may clear me ! ” 

' He had joined both Henriette’s and Suzanne’s hands 
in his broad clasp and now, raising them, he kissed 
all four together. 

M. de Lignerolles interposed, addressing himself to 
Mme. Laroque. 

I have brought you face to face wdth your hus- 
band,” he said, “ because I still hope that he may in- 
duce you to speak by persuading you that your silence 
is his most dangerous foe, and that it is better for him 
that you should speak and disclose the truth, what- 
ever it may be, than longer to maintain silence. La- 
roque will tell you this more earnestly than 1 can, for he 
speaks in his own interest, for his own sake. It is 
evident to us, as to every one else, that you and your 
child saw this murder. The gravest charges have 
been brought against your husband, and if you wont 
speak, the conclusion is evident that you are as fully 
convinced of his guilt as we are.” 

He turned to his unhappy prisoner. 

“ Try to make your wife and child understand this, 
Laroque. M. Lacroix and I have endeavored in vain ; 
they have turned a deaf ear to all our entreaties. 
May you be more lucky than we ! ” 

Roger listened to him with marked intentness. He 
was making strenuous efforts to command his intelli- 


i8o the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE, 

gence, for his brain seemed empty. As the judge fin- 
ished, he shook his head and muttered to himself : 

They must speak or I am lost ! ” 

He still knelt at his wife’s feet, holding both her 
hands and those of Suzanne. Twice Henriette had 
tried to withdraw hers, but he had tightened his clasp 
upon them, forcing her to allow them to remain in 
his ; and each time, as he noticed the vain attempt, 
Laroque had looked at her and smiled, in a depre- 
cating, timid manner. 

Henriette,” he said, you have heard what M. de 
Lignerolles has said, but evidently you have failed to 
understand his meaning ; let me interpret it for you. 
‘ We cannot induce your wife and child,’ he says, ‘ to 
break their silence, but we have proved that they wit- 
nessed the murder. Now, if you were not the assas- 
sin, of course they would say so ; therefore their 
silence accuses you. As long as you declare your 
innocence, why don’t you command them to speak ? 
Let them tell what they saw ; for, if you are guiltless, 
you have nothing to fear, but everything to gain from 
their testimony.’ Is not this your meaning, M. de 
Lignerolles ? ” 

- You have rendered it exactly,” the judge replied. 

The judge is right, Henriette, don’t you see that 
he is ? One would think that you lacked intelligence. 
Your silence appears most strange, and it is but natu- 
ral for them to conclude that Victoire was right, and 
that you not only witnessed the murder, but identi- 
fied me as the assassin ; that out of consideration for 
me, your husband, you have determined not to speak. 
But I, who know you could not have seen me at the 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. i8i 

villa on that fatal night, I have nothing to fear from 
your declaration ; nothing, my darling, do you hear ? 
As I am conscious of my entire innocence, I know 
that if you saw any one, it was some other man, and 
therefore I am deeply concerned in what you tell M. 
de Lignerolles. I beseech you, my dearest, tell us 
what you saw.” 

She would not reply, but sat in utterly motionless 
silence, as if in a magnetic trance, bolt upright in her 
chair with stiff, rigid limbs, chill hands, and lowered 
eyelids. 

“ Did you hear me, Henriette ?” 

She made a sign in the affirmative. 

“ Then why this silence, my child ; this horrible, 
condemnatory silence ? ” 

I have nothing to say.” 

“ You are speaking falsely. Victoire’s deposition 
is precise ; besides which, your strange pallor and 
emotion betray you — and now I remember that the 
morning after the murder Suzanne had a fit of con- 
vulsions. All this goes to prove — ” 

“ I saw nothing,” 

But if I implore you, Henriette, to speak ? ” 

“ Having seen nothing, I have nothing to tell.” 

“ Weil then, you wish to accuse me ? I am your 
husband, innocent, miserable, wretched, and you con- 
demn me to destruction ! ” 

It required supernatural strength on the poor 
woman’s part not to give way to her emotion. She 
had foreseen this horrible situation on the day when, 
for the second time, M. Lacroix had examined her 
at the viairie. 


1 32 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

Speak ! It would be simply to affirm that she had 
seen her husband murder Larouette ! And this 
thought was so fearful an one, this idea of accusing 
her own husband, her child’s father, of murder was so 
horrible that she would have borne the tortures of the 
rack itself rather than comply with their demand. 

While she thus listened to him as he knelt at her feet 
in vain entreaty, if she closed her eyes that she might 
not behold the figure that had grown so horribly rem- 
iniscent to her, if she bit her lips until their pallid hue 
was flecked with the bright crimson of her life-blood, 
it was simply that she might control herself from cry- 
ing aloud : 

I comprehend you ! I understand your aim ! 
You are acting a hideous role, and wish me to join in 
the odious comedy. I know you to be the murderer, 
since my own eyes witnessed the fact ; but you are 
only too well aware that my natural feeling for you 
would hinder my confession, and therefore you can 
afford to beg and beseech me thus. I am forced to 
become your fellow-actor in this wretched drama, 
and to do my best to impede justice. I accept the 
role thrust upon me, for I cannot forget that you once 
pos.sessed my entire love. I should like you better 
were you less cowardly, if you came out boldly and 
confessed your crime; but you choose to feign in- 
nocence and to deny your baseness. What are your 
tears? Mere acting. Your prayers? Acting. Your 
supplications at my feet, your caresses ? Acting still. 
Your pretended affection ? Acting — all, all acting. 
You wish to impress the judge with your frank, open 
nature, and to convince him that you are acting in 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 183 


good faith. Ah ! You know me well ! You well 
understand how weak and feeble I am where you are 
concerned, and that my former love constrains me to 
spare you. You are vile, cowardly, and base ! You 
tremble before the consequences of your conduct and 
I despise you ! ” 

All this her downcast eyes said so plainly, as their 
scornful glance rested upon Roger, that a terrible 
paroxysm of despair suddenly overwhelmed him, and 
in his agony he fell forward and beat his brow against 
the wooden floor, as if he fain would dash out his 
brains. 

M. de Lignerolles made no effort to interrupt this 
distressing scene ; he was there simply to watch and 
listen. 

All of a sudden, Roger half rose, took out his hand- 
kerchief and passed it over his inflamed cheeks and 
hot, feverish brow ; then, still kneeling, he again ad- 
dressed his wife : 

‘‘ Henriette,” he pleaded, “ forget where we are and 
try to imagine that we are alone. Listen to me as if 
were at home, by ourselves in your own chamber, 
your pretty, dainty white chamber with its gay, bright, 
sunshiny air and aspect, where you have been so 
happy and where you felt the want of no caged birds, 
so melodious was the air with the songs of those of 
the forest who all seemed to know you and to come 
at your call. I.ook at me, Henriette ; have I changed 
any ? And yet I find you so strangely altered ! What 
has happened during my absence ? Will you not tell 
me, my darling? We are both young, Henriette, and 
yet we have been married eight years. In these eight 


1 84 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 


years have you ever remarked anything in my words 
or conduct which could have prepared you for, or 
led you to anticipate, this crime with which I am 
charged ? ” 

‘‘No, Roger, no ! Never, never! she cried ve- 
hemently. 

“I loved you a long, long time, dearest, before I 
dared confess my love, and it was finally your father 
who discovered it, perhaps before even you, yourself, 
were aware of it. Twas poor, and you comparatively 
rich, and I would have continued to suffer in silence, 
1 would have kept my love to myself — for I was jeal- 
ous lest the slightest breath of suspicion should 
smirch or tarnish its purity. I was poor, but at the 
same time I was proud. But you loved me, you re- 
turned my love, and your father detected this also. 
He forced our hearts into an acknowledgment of 
their love. Was mine the conduct of a prospective 
criminal ? ” 

“ No, no, Roger ; your delicacy was most noble ! ” 

“Have you forgotten, Henriette, how happy we 
were before our marriage, and how happy we have 
been since ? I knew myself to be rough and uncouth, 
and I tried to soften and refine myself. Have I ever 
caused you to suffer from the slightest brutality, or 
lack of consideration ? Have I not tried, as far as I 
was able, to anticipate your wishes, to study your 
tastes, and fulfill your desires ? If I have ever been 
so unfortunate as to unwittingly cause you suffering 
or pain, Henriette, tell me, and I will acknowledge my 
fault.” 

“ I was but too happy, Roger." 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 185 

‘‘Ay, you were. You say so, and I know it ; I am 
convinced of it, for I never let a day pass without 
seeking some manner of pleasing you, without study- 
ing your happiness, and because I should have felt 
unworthy of you had I ever detected the slightest 
cloud on your brow. Of course I was unable to be 
always at your feet, assuring you of my love, for I had 
our living to earn and a fortune to acquire ; yet my 
labor was but one more proof of my love and solici- 
tude for you, for, while you were neither foolish nor 
extravagant, I was ambitious to be able to assure you 
that our affairs were prosperous — knowing, that, 
though you were not anxious for wealth for yourself, 
you naturally desired to see your child’s future 
assured.” 

“ This is all true, Roger ; I acknowledge it. I 
never doubted or distrusted you ; I have never had 
the slightest cause to complain of you.” 

“ And yet it is I, I the same man, whom to-day they 
accuse of murder and whom you refuse to defend. I 
never would have believed that fate could have accu- 
mulated such a mass of terrible, condemnatory proofs 
against an innocent man ! There are circumstances 
in the case which I am actually forbidden to explain ; 
but you, Henriette, you who have known and loved 
me for so many years, who have so long shared my 
life — a life which you know to be above reproach — you 
should be the one to dispute the evidence, to explain 
this otherwise inexplicable matter. If you refuse to 
do this, if you withhold your testimony, then you, 
yourself, will be guilty of an enormous sin — for your 
silence will weigh more heavily than all else against 


1 86 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE, 

me in the judge’s decision, a silence which is in itself 
equal to a condemnation. I am going still further, 
Henriette. 

“ They tell me that you saw me strangle Larouette 
with these two hands which have so often pressed 
yours in love, which are holding yours now, at this very 
moment. If you saw me so plainly that there was no 
room for question as to my identity, your duty would 
still be to doubt your own convictions, the evidence 
of your own eyesight, the testimony of your very 
senses themselves. But, on the other hand, if your 
love is so feeble as to be unable to withstand such an 
assault, it is at least your duty as a woman, to come 
out plainly with the whole truth as you would do in 
the case of any stranger.” 

She was listening attentively. He spoke so ten- 
derly, so affectionately, that she must have been won 
to a belief in his innocence had it not been for the 
vision of that dreadful night. But the very remem- 
brance of their former love which he so gently evoked, 
only served to augment her scorn, so hypocritical 
seemed his allusion to it in this tragic moment. He 
would fain shelter himself behind her love ! The 
coward ! Beneath what depths of infamy was this 
man’s soul concealed 

Henriette remained unmoved by the least touch of 
uncertainty or irresolution. She was thoroughly aware 
of all the proofs collected by the prosecution : the 
approaching failure, the payment made Larouette, 
Baroque’s inability to account satisfactorily for his 
employment during that evening, the discovery of the 
incriminating bank-notes, and all the rest ; but what 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 187 

she was better informed of than the law itself, was 
Roger’s return after the crime had been committed, 
his haggard appearance, discomposed manner, and 
disordered attire. What she had surprised without 
his knowledge was his contemplated suicide in his 
first moments of dread and apprehension, in his first 
throes of remorse. Was it possible for her to waver 
in her conviction of his guilt ? 

‘‘Henriette, you remain silent ! Have you no com- 
passion for either my prayers or my tears ? ” 

But her lips remained firmly closed, while her eyes 
seemed to say, Liar ! Liar ! ” 

He ^suddenly started erect and drew himself up to 
his full height, clinching his fists in liis desperation ; 
then a calm seemed to come upon him, the calm of a 
mighty despair. 

“ Henriette,” he said, you have ruined me. You 
have ceased to love me, perhaps indeed you never 
have loved me. Well ! I want you to feel assured of 
one thing : I love you and I shall continue to do so, 
in spite of everything. I shall love you even if I am 
found guilty at the trial, ay, even upon the scaffold 
itself, I will proclaim my love for you with my dying 
breath. This shall be your punishment and my re- 
venge ! ” 

He paced the little office for a few moments with 
hasty strides, a prey to the most intense emotion. 
Finally he paused and commanded his voice suffi- 
ciently to say to the judge : 

“Monsieur, I have done all I can.” 

M. de Lignerolles pointed to Suzanne, who was sit- 
ting in her mother’s lap. 


1 88 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

“ There were two witnesses,” he suggested ; ‘^your 
wife and child.” 

Roger understood. One last hope remained to him. 
Possibly his child could be induced to speak ! He 
lifted her from her mother’s lap and pressed her to 
him with passionate kisses. Then suddenly he ap- 
proached M. de Lignerolles. 

beg you to send my wife away,” he said. 

The judge acquiesced with a nod. Henriette arose 
without awaiting an order and disappeared behind the 
door leading into the ante-room. 

Roger seized Suzanne beneath the arms, as if he 
were about to lift her upon his shoulder, and held her 
from him a moment, saying, with a sad smile, as he 
looked fixedly at her : 

“ So you love me no longer, my darling ? ” 

The child looked at him with a wild, frightened 
stare. She was so altered that anyone, seeing her be- 
fore the crime and now, would have said these were 
two distinct children. Of her former careless, joyous 
expression and the laughing gayety of her large blue 
eyes, there now remained not one trace. Her lips 
had lost their lovely, gracious curves and formed a 
straight, narrow line, white and tense, as she com- 
pressed them after the fashion of a woman who had 
suffered mortal agony. 

Whereas her coloring had been the mingled pink 
and white of a blush rose, now it had become sallow 
and ghastly ; while her pure white brow, that had 
been as smooth and unlined as the inner petal of a 
lily, was now seamed with deep, heavy lines of care 
and sorrow. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 189 

‘‘ Why do you wish to make papa unhappy ?” asked 
Laroque, kissing her between nearly every word. 
‘‘Have I ever done anything to cause you sorrow, 
little one? Have I not always loved and indulged you 
as much as your dear mamma, and embraced you 
as often as she ? Did I not always bring you some 
little surprise when I came home at night ? And you 
expected it always too, you rogue, for didn’t you 
always run to meet me as soon as you knew I was com- 
ing ? So it was not for myself, and because I was 
your own father that you loved me ! It was simply 
becausq I brought you dollies, and sweetmeats, and 
toys ! That was not at all nice, mademoiselle, and 
you deserve a good scolding for it.” 

Suzanne did not appear to hear him. 

Have you ever seen any of those poor little crea- 
tures, disinherited by nature, who are idiotic from their 
birth ? Their eyes look strained and vacant, their 
features disfigured and unnatural. Suzanne’s appear- 
ance was similar, at this moment. Apparently her 
father’s words made no impression upon her mind. 

“ Suzanne ! Suzanne ! ” he cried. “ My own, pre- 
cious little darling, answer me. You remember, don’t 
you, the day when you made me the pretty little ad- 
dress which mamma taught you, when you said, 
‘ Dear papa, I am never so happy as when you embrace 
me. I know how you indulge me, and every day I 
love you better because I know how good you are.’ 
Try to remember, dear one, the day before, — ^the even- 
ing before. I didn’t come home to dine with you and 
mamma, and it seems you waited up for me until very 
late. You were out on the balcony watching the 


190 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

Street for me. You know, don’t you ? You re- 
member ? ” 

“Yes, father ; I remember,” she muttered. 

Roger gave a sigh of relief. Hope sprang up 
within him ; Suzanne was beginning to remember ! 

“At last, you saw me go into the little cottage op- 
posite ours — you remember it, dear, don’t you ? T he 
little house with the big chestnut-trees in front of it } ” 

“ Yes ; it was M. Larouette’s house.” 

“ That is it. And it seems you saw me go in there ? 
Then you saw me enter the room whose window was 
open, and throw myself upon Larouette — you saw me 
put my hands around his throat, throw him down, and 
kill him ? ” 

The child was silent. 

“ Say, dearest I speak. It is your own dear papa 
who asks it.” 

“ I saw nothing of that,” she replied, in a low tone. 

“ Then what did you see ? For one thing is certain; 
you saw something.” 

“ No ; mother and I saw nothing.” 

“ You are telling a lie ! They have already told you 
that you were lying, and now I repeat it. It is wicked 
to lie and I order you to speak out and tell the truth ; 
if you do not, I will punish you. Besides that, you 
will never see me again — never, do you hear.^ And 
that will be a sad loss to you, for there will be no one 
then to bring you toys and horses and carriages and 
flowers, sweetmeats, or dollies as large as yourself. 
All these you will have to go without, for you will be 
poor and there will be no one to buy them for you. 
Neither will you be able to wear big hats with long 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 19 ^ 

floating ends, in which you look so pretty and dainty; 
nor beautiful new dresses which you love so well. 
You wont have much of anything, for you will be poor 
then, and you will be poor because you disobey your 
father. Speak ! I tell you to speak : do you hear ? 
I order — command you — will you mind me ? ” 

‘‘Oh, father! father!” she cried. “I am fright- 
ened ! ” 

“ Speak, speak ! ” he reiterated. “You must and 
shall ! Now then ; when you were on the balcony, 
what did you see and hear ! If you don’t obey me I 
will take you to prison with me, and you will be put 
into a dark, lonely cell, where all sorts of ugly beasts 
will come to eat you up ; where you will see dreadful 
ghosts ; and where, whenever you fall asleep, some one 
will wake you to make you suffer. Speak, now ; speak, 
I say ! ” 

“ Father, father, pity me ! Pity — ” 

“ Why should I pity you, when you wont speak as I 
tell you to ? I love you no longer. You are no 
longer my child — no, you no longer belong to me. 
Who is she, this child ? She is some little stranger 
whom we brought up out of charity, and whom we will 
send out into the streets again because she is disobe- 
dient and shows ingratitude for all we have done for 
her. You don’t deserve our love — ” 

He was completely carried away by his intense 
rage and disappointment. He shook her roughly, and 
she made no resistance, allowing him to do as he would, 
standing inert and almost lifeless, with motionless body 
and drooping head. Suddenly he pushed her violently 
from him. 


tg2 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

The child lost her balance and fell forward upon 
her knees, while Laroque raised his arms in an access 
of impotent fury. His reason was leaving him as it 
had previously well-nigh forsaken them, Henriette and 
Suzanne. 

Human strength cannot bear the strain of too great 
tension, and these awful scenes were harrowing and 
wearing in the extreme.^ Madness is but a step 
removed from such agony. 

Laroque had never treated his child with anything 
but the utmost gentleness and indulgence, and her re- 
sistance put him into an insensate rage. He longed 
to crush, to beat her into submission. 

It seemed as if she expected a blow, for, like a re- 
signed martyr, she let her head fall upon her breast, 
so that not even Roger could hear her feeble murmur. 

Forgive me, father ; forgive me ! " 

Suddenly a;woman darted between them and fell on 
her knees beside the child. It was Henriette. 

In a frenzy of horror she seized Suzanne in her arms, 
muttering to Laroque, as she sank upon the floor, a 
brief sentence, uttered in so low and faint a tone that 
he alone caught its significance. 

Strike us, now, together, if you will — as you struck 
him ! '* 

His anger died within him ; his arms with their 
clinched fists, raised to strike, fell slowly upon those 
two dear heads upon which, in the past years, he had 
lavished so many kisses — fell, but not to injure. 
Burying his rough hands, for a moment, in the fair 
tresses of both mother and child, rendering his touch 
soft and gentle as a snow-flake in this last supreme 
caress, he murmured: 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 193 

No, I will never strike you, for I love you both too 
well. Love you ! My God ! how I love you ! " 

He could bear no more, poor fellow ! He made a 
brief, hasty sign to M. de Lignerolles ; the stenogra- 
pher took Henrietta by the arm and led her respect- 
fully away, with Suzanne stumbled blindly along, 
clinging to her mother’s gown. 

Roger followed them with his eyes, and when the 
distance swallowed them, the earth seemed to reel 
beneath his feet, he staggered helplessly, threw out his 
arms, and fell heavily forward with a deep groan, and 
lay, a lifeless, prostrate figure, on the office floor. 


CHAPTER X. 


investigation continued for some days longer, 
1 and finally ended without any additional dis- 
coveries. Nothing hindered the course of justice. 
To all M. de Lignerolles’s questions, Roger made but 
one reply : 

I am innocent. I can make no further defense.” 

He abandoned himself to despair and to the fatality 
of which he felt himself to be a helpless victim. 

Had the slightest doubt existed in the judge’s 
opinion, Roger’s case would not have looked so gloomy 
perhaps ; but, unfortunately, all the results of the 
inquest, together with the proofs which had so terri- 
bly multiplied against him, went to form a mass of 
evidence so appallingly probable that a certain con- 
viction of his guilt possessed M. de Lignerolles’s mind. 

The judge therefore transmitted his report to Paris, 
and Roger Laroque was ordered to appear before the 
Court of Assizes for Seine-et-Oise, then sitting at 
Versailles. 

Henriette learned this from the newspapers. She 
never now left the villa, remaining closely confined to 
her own chamber, buried in a strange mental and 
physical apathy. She scarcely ever spoke to any one, 
and had even lost all interest in Suzanne, watching 
her sometimes, as she moved about her, as if she 


194 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 19S 


failed to recognize her as her own child, and as if she 
were some total stranger. 

She heard nothing more, now, from either Lacroix 
or M. de Lignerolles. The least recollection of these 
two men, and of the terrible experiences to which 
they had subjected her, would cause her a spasm of 
convulsive trembling. Her teeth would’ chatter, and 
she would nervously hide her head beneath the bed- 
coverings like a frightened child. 

At last came a morning when she did not even rise 
from her bed, but lay motionless and still, with white, 
drawn features, in utter unconsciousness. 

Suspecting some accident as she did not appear as 
usual, for she was generally exceedingly punctual, 
the servants went to her room and discovered her 
condition. They called in Dr. Martinaud, who pre- 
scribed a remedy but with no great faith in its efficacy. 
He asserted that Mine. Laroque was incurably ill and 
that she had but a few days to live. 

Henriette revived a little under his treatment, and 
thanked him for his efforts in her behalf with a sad, 
hopeless smile. She was not deceived regarding her 
condition, and before dying she wished to make some 
provision for Suzanne’s future. She at once dis- 
patched a few lines, written in an almost illegible 
hand, to an old uncle, one of her father’s brothers, 
Adrien Benardit, who had an iron-foundry near 
Montherme, in the forest of Ardennes. 

In the near event of her death, with Roger con- 
demned as he needs must be, Suzanne would be left 
utterly alone in the world, and Henriette desired to 
confide her to the care of the forge-master — a worthy, 


196 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 


honest man, of whom her father had frequently 
spoken to her, but whom she had seen only twice in 
her life. 

Having written and sent the letter, she calmly 
awaited the coming of the old priest whom she had 
summoned to prepare her for death, keeping her eyes 
constantly fixed upon the face of her child, of the little 
being whom she so dearly loved and from whom she 
was about to be separated forever ; and who, with 
the precocious intelligence bestowed by suffering, 
had arranged never to be absent from her mother’s 
chamber. 

She became Henriette’s nurse, being utterly unwill- 
ing to leave the task to any one else, and she tended 
her with an absolute and untiring devotion. She 
watched over her slumber, lest it should be disturbed ; 
gave her her prescribed draughts and medicines, sup- 
porting her weak frame as carefully as an older per- 
son could have done, wiping her pallid lips, arranging 
the pillows, and smoothing the bed ; all with a care 
and precision which were marvelous in a child. 

The poor mother would lie and gaze at her with 
infinite love and gratitude in her sunken eyes, bit- 
terly bemoaning in her heart the necessity of parting 
with her dear little one. Occasionally the child would 
climb upon the bed, lay her head down beside Henri- 
ette’s, and murmur : 

Mamma, dearest, get well, if you love your little 
girl/’ 

Mme. de Noirville had thirsted for revenge, and she 
had attained it ; a more terrible revenge, perhaps, than 
she had desired. She had told Laroque that she 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 197 


belonged to a race who were extreme in all things. 
The intermixture of Spanish and Arabian blood had 
bestowed upon her an extremely violent temperament, 
an ardent imagination, a desire for pleasure, which 
might have been curbed and regulated by her husband 
had she loved him sufficiently to be influenced by him, 
but to which, as she did not love him, she had yielded 
without resistance. 

“Avenge me, but avenge me thoroughly ! ” she had 
cried to Luversan, as they were concluding their com- 
pact. 

A few days later Luversan met her at an open-air 
dance, the last of the season, given in the great gar- 
dens of the Hotel Terrenoire, Rue de Chanaleilles. 
It was nearly*' one o’clock in the morning, about an 
hour and a half after Larouette’s murder. 

Luversan looked pale, but calm and collected, irre- 
proachable in dress and bearing. When he found an 
opportunity to approach Julia in an obscure path, he 
silently held out to her a package of bank-notes. 

“ What are these?” she asked, in surprise. 

“The hundred thousand francs you owe Laroque. 
It is absolutely necessary that they shall be in his pos- 
session to-morrow morning.” 

“ I know him to be in a terribly embarrassed con- 
dition.” 

“ That is true.” 

“ Then I am to save him ? Is this to be my re- 
venge ? ” 

“You are about to destroy him.” 

“ I don’t understand how,” she said ; “but you say 
so and I must believe you. I cannot withdraw since 


198 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

you know my secret, and thus have a hold upon me. 
Besides, you hate him as well as I, and therefore the 
same interest unites us.’* 

She took the package from him and hid it in her 
dress. Luversan bowed, showed himself among the 
dancers, and refrained from going near her again 
during the night. 

The next morning she went out upon some indif- 
ferent pretext, took a fiacre, and was driven to Ba- 
roque’s apartments in the Boulevard Malesherbes. 
Roger had just arrived. The reader is acquainted 
with what followed. 

Through common friends, de Noirville learned of 
Roger’s arrest and of his summons to Versailles to 
answer to the charge of murder and robbery. 

“ It is ridiculous ! ” he exclaimed. ‘‘ More than 
that, it is monstrous ! Roger a thief and murderer ! 
A likely story ! ” 

Without a moment’s delay he set out for the court, 
where he was directed to the officer in charge of the 
investigation. M. Lienard was in his office when de 
Noirville was announced, and he fully informed the 
lawyer concerning the case. 

The latter returned home, both anxious and discon- 
certed. Anxious regarding the issue of the affair, and 
disconcerted by the heavy weight of proof that had 
accumulated against Baroque. But his faith in his 
friend, his almost brother, remained unshaken. 

Roger a thief and murderer ! I'he very suggestion 
caused his good, true heart to quiver with hot indig- 
nation. Even without having heard him in his own 
defense, and in spite of the overwhelming evidence 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 199 

against him, he would have staked his life on Laroque's 
innocence. 

Julia had not yet heard the news. He told it to 
her in a flood of burning words, scathingly and scorn- 
fully contemptuous of a police who could have allowed 
themselves to suspect such a man. 

Our detectives should be more careful,*' he said. 
“Only last year there was a terrible instance of Judi- 
cial error in the condemnation of a man named 
Lauriot, called the ‘butcher of Meudon,’ who was 
entirely innocent and narrowly escaped the guillo- 
tine.” 

With pallid face and trembling lips Mme. de Noir* 
ville listened in silence. Now she understood all. 
Larouette’s murderer was no other than Luversan — 
the man who had robbed Larouette was Luversan ! 
The stolen money, whose source Roger refused to 
disclose, was the ioo,oco francs which she herself had 
carried to the Boulevard Malesherbes. With what 
infernal skill the plot had been carried out ! If she 
did not speak she would condemn Roger to death. 
She had wished to taste the fruit of revenge, and its 
bitterness poisoned her very soul. 

Yet the sublime devotion manifested by Laroque, 
the utter abnegation, which preferred self-immolation 
to his friend’s open dishonor, failed to touch her 
heart. Her hatred was still the liveliest emotion of 
her nature. She still remembered, witli bitter morti- 
fication and rage, how she had supplicated him and 
how he had turned a deaf ear to her prayers. She 
had longed that all tlie tears shed by her should be 
drowned in those of Laroque. 


200 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

One night, as she sat alone in her chamber, she 
suddenly rose and opened a secret drawer in a little 
desk, of which she alone possessed the key. From it 
she drew a photograph, which she held for some 
moments beneath the flame of a night-lamp which 
burned on the bureau in an alabaster vase — regarding 
it fixedly, with glowing, earnest gaze. 

Then, seizing a golden-hilted dagger which lay 
close by on a neighboring table, a pretty toy that 
served as a paper-cutter, with the wildness of her 
half-savage nature, she drove it into the heart of the 
picture until its hilt came in contact with the card. 
It was a photograph of Laroque. 

She then turned it over, and, as if to mark her 
hatred, as if to the better assist her memory when in 
later years she might wish to recall the details of the 
affair, she wrote upon its back the date of Larouette’s 
murder : 

‘‘July 28, 1872.’* 

A little lower down she wrote the date of Laroque’s 
arrest : 

“July 30, 1872,” 

reserving a space on which to inscribe the date of his 
condemnation. Her whole revenge, which to her 
barbaric nature meant her whole life, was included 
in those three dates. 

A few days after the arrest- — which ’created much 
excitement in Paris, *in whose business circles Laroque 
was well known, and in which he had formed excellent 
connections, — Lucien de Noirville said to his wife : 

“ I have ceased pleading at the bar ; my wretched 
health and unfortunate infirmity are insurmountable 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. '20I 

obstacles to it. As you know, I have never argued a 
case since the war, but I have determined to be heard 
again, if only for once, before I retire for good.” 

Vaguely alarmed, she asked : 

And what case then do you mean to undertake ?” 

Good heavens ! Need you ask ? Do you sup- 
pose that I shall leave poor Roger to the tender mer- 
cies of a judge and jury, without a friend at his side 
to support and aid him ? I shall assume his defense 
and snatch him from their hands, if God will but give 
me strength. Perhaps this will be the first time that 
a court of law will ever have witnessed* a cripple, un- 
able to move without support from others, brought to 
the bar to plead, first by his mere appearance, and 
then with all the warmth of eloquence which he can 
command, for the life of one who has been his com- 
rade in arms and is now his dearest friend.” 

She turned white and shivered, despite her wonder- 
ful self-control. Her husband defend Roger! Ah, 
that was an event of which she had never dreamed. 
Lucien was determined to exert all his talent to snatch 
a man from the grasp of the law — and that man had 
been his wife's lover ! 

Well,” he said, following out his train of thought, 
“what do you say? Don’t you think I am right? 
Do you doubt my ability ? Ah, you will find yourself 
mistaken indeed ! I will prove that I am still the 
same lawyer who, before the war, had all Paris run- 
ning after him. It is true that I am weak and well- 
nigh helpless — those cursed balls have made me a 
miserable devil of a cripple who looks as if he hadn’t 
a week to live — but my heart is still young. You shall 


202 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

see ! I love Roger well ; almost better, I think, than 
I should have loved a brother. You don’t know him, 
Julia, as 1 do ; you have no idea of his loyalty, cour- 
age, goodness, and gayety, or of how bright and witty 
he can be. His mind is extraordinarily serious and 
intelligent, but it also demonstrates at times all the 
naivete of a child. He is, in short, a man whom one 
is proud to know and whose friendship honors its 
recipient. And it is a man like this that they accuse 
of the most heinous crimes ! But I will show them 
how grave is their mistake. It wont be a very diffi- 
cult matter. I shant have to devote much study to 
the affair" I shall merely have to speak right out 
from my heart to convince them. And I will embrace 
him in public before them all, judge, jury, and specta- 
tors, to show them how deeply convinced I am of his 
innocence ; I will embrace him again, even as I did in 
the face of death upon the fatal plain of Garenne, 
before Sedan, where I left my two poor limbs. Wait, 
and you shall see ! You shall hear such eloquence as 
is at my command. I will have them weep, and they 
shall weep ! ” 

She was silent ; overwhelmed with the strangely 
dramatic character of the situation. 

Here was a husband, ignorant of his own dishonor, 
exerting all his talents and strength in defense of the 
man who had betrayed him ! And she knew that he 
was capable of saving Laroque. He made no vain 
boast in asserting that, before the war, all Petris had 
run after him. 

The court had been always crowded to suffocation 
when cases came up with which his name was con- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 203 

nected. By his virile eloquence, by his warm, pictur- 
esque, enthusiastic pleading, which, when it seemed 
the most abandoned to feeling, was always sure of 
itself and had its object well in view, he had quelled 
the thunderous echoes of Lachaud’s great speeches, 
and had set at naught the fluent, ready diction of 
Jules Favre. 

He had been without a rival and had reigned for 
several years, incontestably, the master of the bar. 
Since he had abandoned his position in the tribunal, 
the bar had been shorn of its brilliancy. 

No, she felt no doubt of his ability. If it were pos- 
sible for any one to save Laroque, she knew her hus- 
band to be the man. And Laroque saved, what was 
her revenge Worth ? 

She shook her head, saying : 

Perhaps, when you have examined the briefs in 
the case, you will feel less sure of success.” 

His smile was full of pride, pride in his friend’s 
nobility, as he replied : 

He is innocent, I tell you. Do you doubt it ? 
Certainly there are some strangely inexplicable mat- 
ters connected with the case ; — the stolen notes, for 
instance, found in the business safe in the Rue Saint 
Maur. Roger affirms that he received them in pay- 
ment of a debt, but refuses to disclose his debtor’s 
name. He is utterly incapable of lying. The debtor 
really exists, I am convinced. There is some mystery 
about it which I am sure he will explain to me. He 
would tell me things that he would not confide to the 
magistrates, for he has confidence in my friendship — 
besides, a man’s lawyer is his confessor. When I 


204 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

shall know his secret I shall be equipped for his 
defense — but this secret I must have.” 

Her throat contracted so that it brought on a fit of 
coughing, and by a spasmodic movement her fingers 
interlaced themselves so strongly that their joints 
cracked loudly. Her lips were blanched and dry. 
Even her eyes had grown dull and lusterless like those 
of a dead woman. She almost fainted with terror as 
he added smilingly : 

“ This singular obstinacy of Roger’s forces me to 
the conclusion that there is a woman mixed up in the 
matter.” 

‘‘ You must notice,” she returned, with a strong 
effort, ‘‘that he keeps away from you.” 

He remained a moment in meditation. 

“ That is true,” he said finally. “ If I guess cor- 
rectly, he is distrustful of me. I am the more sur- 
prised, in that, for a long time, I have been familiar 
with his most private affairs.” 

That very day Lucien presented himself at the Paris 
magistracy and obtained the necessary permission to 
authorize him to visit Laroque in the prison at Ver- 
sailles. 

A couple of days later the employees of the Saint 
Lazare station beheld a man ascending the steps which 
lead to the hall des Pas-Perdus, a young man whose 
distinguished features bore traces of unutterable weari- 
ness and the marks of bitter inward suffering. 

This man wore two wooden legs and walked with 
difficulty, leaning heavily upon a pair of crutches, 
while an exceedingly beautiful woman, with a tall, 
pliant figure and immense dark eyes, moved slowly 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 205 


beside him, carefully guarding his steps, and ready, at 
a moment’s notice, to sustain him should his strength 
give way. 

These two travelers, upon whom all eyes were 
turned in curious pity and admiration, were Lucien de 
Noirville and his wife, on their way to the prison of 
Versailles. Julia had insisted upon accompanying her 
husband, for, in her feverish anxiety, she felt a desire 
to keep as near the danger as possible, that she might 
be at hand to influence her husband in case of emer- 
gency. 

She was, however, obliged to leave him at the prison 
gates, and she occupied the time of his absence by 
driving about the streets of Versailles and making 
calls upon friends who resided there. 

After the last examination which our narrative re- 
corded, Roger Laroque became completely prostrated. 
He had hoped up to the last moment, for he was well 
aware that the innocent are rarely apprehended nowa- 
days, that our modern police have become too clear- 
sighted and intelligent, our magistrates too clever and 
experienced, to allow of any very great errors of dis- 
cretion or discrimination being made. 

They will discover the murderer,” he had told 
himself. “ They must discover him some day.” 

But the days had rolled by, each bestowing in its 
progress its share of proofs, and still the murderer 
remained undiscovered. And then, in the midst of 
the terrible upheaval of his life, in the dark gloom and 
despair with which his future seemed enshrouded, the 
one sole hope and comfort to which his heart had 
clung with joyous tenacity, the thought of the loving 


2o6 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE, 


trust and confidence which he might rely upon from 
two faithful hearts, was suddenly wrested from him. 
No longer could he count upon their passionate affec- 
tion and devotion, since by their manner and conduct 
they evidently believed him guilty. This was the last 
stroke, and for a moment his reason tottered beneath 
the shock. 

Throughout the next morning he had raved in 
delirium ; then his vigorous temperament and sturdy 
constitution reasserted themselves. Madness would 
have been welcome to him, for it meant at least 
oblivion of his suffering ; but God withheld even this 
boon, judging, in His inscrutable wdsdom, that he had 
not suffered enough. 

He was lying dressed upon his narrow cot, whose 
dimensions scarcely accommodated his great frame, 
when a warder opened the door of his cell. As he 
did not stir, but remained with closed eyes, unmoved 
by the sound of the man’s entrance, though wide 
awake, the warder approached and shook him 
roughly. 

Here, Laroque,'’ he cried, ‘‘ get up ! Here is 
M. de Noirville, the lawyer, come to see you.” 

As this name fell upon his ears, Roger rose hur- 
riedly, standing erect and aloof as his visitor entered. 

As de Noirville perceived his friend and took in his 
dreary, dismal surroundings, he was so overcome by 
his emotion that his strength gave way, he fell back 
against the wall of the cell, and, as his crutches 
dropped unheeded to the ground, he stretched out 
his arms, while hot tears overflowed his eyes, and 
cried loudly : 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 207 


‘‘ Roger ! Roger ! My poor friend ! My dear, 
dear brother ! ” 

“ Lucien ! Here ! What unlooked-for happiness ! 
My friend, my one, single, only friend in all the ^ 
world ! ” 

The warder had withdrawn, as de Noirville had 
received permission to see his friend alone. With 
hand clasped in hand*, and eye reading eye, they re- 
mained for some moments gazing silently at each other. 

Suddenly, with heart-breaking agony in his tones, 
Roger broke the stillness : 

“ Lucien, you at least believe me innocent ! ” he 
burst forth. This was his first thought, his first word. 

“Rather!” cried Lucien, smiling brightly, “and 
I mean to prove it to all the world ; ” adding, as La- 
roque looked at him in speechless, uncomprehending 
uncertainty, “ Do you for a moment imagine that I 
would allow any other man to defend your case ? Do 
you think that I would permit such a blemish to rest 
upon my friendship ? ” Laroque recoiled and dropped 
his face into his hands, horror-stricken by this new 
complication. 

“ You ! You ! ” he stammered, “ You, defend me ! 
You wish to do this ! You ! ” 

“Well, what is there so extraordinary in that?” 
queried de Noirville, with pretended gayety. “ Am I 
not a lawyer ! and no poor one, either, the world says. 
To-day, I congratulate myself upon the fact as never 
before. What is the matter ? You don’t seem to ac- 
cept my proposition with any great amount of enthu- 
siasm. Why not ? What have I done to you — any- 
thing ? ” 


208 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

“ No, Lucien, nothing — nothing ! It is only — that — ' 

‘‘ Haven't you confidence in me ? " 

“ Oh, yes ! I believe it impossible for any one to 
save me, but if a miracle can be performed in my 
favor you are the only person capable of accomplish- 
ing it.” 

“ Very well, then ! I will come again — ” 

“ No, no ! ” interrupted Laroque, almost beside him- 
self with agony and horror, “ I wont have it ; do you 
hear? I will not permit it ! ” and burying his head in 
his hands, he muttered brokenly, “ He defend me ! 
He ! He ! This noble fellow, spotless and unstained 
in his integrity, defend me, who have dishonored 
him — from whom he would recoil in horror if he knew 
all ! No ; never, never ! I would far rather be con- 
demned to death.” 

He had drawn back as far as his bed, upon which 
he now fell, overcome by remorse and despair. 

Painfully, with awkward, trembling movements — for 
he had not picked up his fallen crutches — Lucien ap- 
proached the bed and seated himself beside his friend. 

Will you explain this childishness to me, Roger ? ” 
he asked reproachfully. “ What ! You decline to 
permit me, your best friend, your comrade in arms, 
whose affection and devotion you have no right to 
doubt, to become your lawyer in this affair ? I under- 
stand that this accusation has well-nigh maddened 
you. Even if a man is honest and strong beyond his 
fellows, I know that such a charge as weighs on you 
is intolerable — ay, and serious, too ; I admit that — 
that it may break the best-tempered spirit ! But I am 
here to aid you, I tell you ; and with me on your side, 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 209 

your cause is not hopeless.” And, as Laroque kept 
his face still buried in his hands, he continued, with 
that rough, good-humored bantering that one employs 
sometimes with fractious children, “ Come, Roger, 
be good enough to drop your hands and look me 
squarely in the face.” 

Under the pressure of his friend’s fingers, Roger 
was forced to take down his hands and permit de 
Noirville to observe his wan, haggard countenance, 
down whose dusky cheeks hot tears of pain and shame 
were coursing. 

“ You weep ! ” cried Lucien tenderly. 

‘‘ Yes ; I weep because your devotion overpowers 
me.” 

Leave my devotion alone ; it isn’t worth consider- 
ing. Let’s think only of yourself. I suppose we are 
not here to merely flatter each other.” 

I cannot accept your unselfish offer, Lucien. 
Thank you, my friend, however, for making it. As 
long as I live — which indeed may not be so very long, 
after all — I shall never forget it.” 

” How you are talking to me, Roger ! I don’t 
underhand you. Do you think there should be any 
question of gratitude between you and me ? I find 
you greatly changed toward me, Roger.” 

‘‘ My affection for you remains unaltered.” 

‘‘Then why wont you take me for your lawyer?” 

“ I cannot ! 1 cannot ! ” cried the wretched man, 

wringing his hands, and, for the second time in his life, 
considering the question of suicide. 

“You do me great wrong, and you pain me deeply.” 

“ Forgive me, my brother, forgive me ? ” 


210 the shadow of ROGER LAROQDE. 

But at least your reason for refusing, your reason — 
for you must have one ? •’ he urged. 

‘‘Yes,” Laroque admitted, without stopping to con- 
sider, speaking merely because he felt the necessity of 
making some reply. 

“At least you will tell it to me?** 

“ What good would it do ? ” 

“ I beg you — if necessary, I command you to tell me ; 
I have the right to do so. I have searched my brain 
in vain ; I cannot imagine what reason you can have.” 

Roger was silent, seeking an excuse which was not 
forthcoming. 

“ Roger,” Lucien finally remarked, “ if you don’t 
speak 1 shall be forced to doubt your friendship for 
me.”- 

The poor fellow was constrained to decide upon 
something, for he saw already signs of suspicion and 
apprehension dawning in de Noirville’s countenance. 

“ Have you heard all the evidence against me ? ’* 

“ The chamber at Paris has sent me its brief. I 
have read it wholly.” 

“ Then you must be aware that the evidence is of 
the gravest nature.” 

“ Yes ; I know it.” 

“You must not deceive yourself, Lucien. I know 
that they will condemn me ; it cannot be otherwise. 
Under such conditions, and as my case is hopeless, I 
am determined not to permit you to burden yourself 
with it. I shall not engage a lawyer for myself ; the 
State can supply one if necessary. That is all.” 

“ This is one of your reasons ? ** 

Yes.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 21 1 

‘‘ In other words, you fear my reputation may suffer 
from the utterly hopeless nature of the case ? 

“ Exactly.’* 

‘‘ Reassure yourself. That does not frighten me in 
the least. To begin with, your reason is absurd and 
unworthy of being called one. No lawyer wins all his 
cases. The most delicate and difficult are the ones 
that cause his talent to shine most brilliantly, whatever 
the result may be. Lachaud assumed the defense of 
Troppmann, my dear fellow, and if there ever was a 
case in which the result was assured beforehand, that 
was it. But I am not Lachaud, neither are you Tropp- 
mann. Have you no more valuable arguments to 
oppose to my determination ? If not, let us talk of 
other things.” 

Roger shook his head. He was utterly unable to 
bring forward any worthy reasons for his opposition. 
What could he say? One thing alone remained clear 
and decided in his aching, bewildered brain, and that 
was his resolve not to allow Lucien to defend him. 
But how could he discourage him ? 

The lawyer had taken one of the prisoner’s hands 
in his. He could read the struggle that was going on 
in the man’s inmost soul, but he was powerless to 
fathom its cause. 

All of a sudden Roger turned and addressed him, 
in a low, controlled voice : 

So you can’t understand it, Lucien ? I must 
needs confess it to you ! ” 

“ Confess what ? ” 

My crime.” 

“ What crime ? ” 


212 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE, 

‘‘ Larouette’s murder.” 

‘‘You are mad! What sort of nonsense are you 
trying to make me believe? ” 

“ It is true, nevertheless. I am the guilty man. I 
was obliged to repay Larouette over 140,000 francs, 
and that payment ruined me. I killed him that I might 
regain that sum, and thus stave off failure. And so I 
will not have you defend me, because I do not wish 
to escape justice. I am unworthy that you should 
defend me, and I am desirous of meeting the chastise- 
ment that I merit.” And still filled with the con- 
sciousness of his sin toward his friend, and burdened 
with a mighty longing to expiate it, he repeated, while 
Lucien sat staring silently at him with wondering, be- 
wildered eyes, “ No, I do not merit any exertion on 
your part ; I am unworthy of it — ay, terribly, terribly 
unworthy ! ” 

Lucien seemed to be penetrating the very depths 
of his soul with his intent, earnest gaze, and Roger 
dropped his head to avoid the inquisitorial regard, 
murmuring : 

“ My God ! May he never, never discover my 
perfidy 1 ” 

“ So ! ” at last exclaimed the cripple. “ You confess 
it ? You acknowledge that you are the murderer ! ” 

“I do.” 

“ And that your motive was theft, the vulgar motive 
of the lowest criminal ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then it was really you whom your wife and child 
sav*^ ” 

Roger drew back, unable to repress a deep groan. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 213 

Could he admit that ? Was it possible for him to do 
so ? No ; ten thousand times no ! They believed 
him guilty, it was true, but let him continue to protest 
his innocence until he went to the scaffold or the 
galleys, and they might be forced, perhaps, into doubt- 
ing their own convictions. He turned to Lucien, 
about to say : 

Don’t mind me, I am crazy. Forget what you 
have heard me say. Can you believe me capable of 
such a crime ? ” But he paused ; his lips remained 
closed. Julia ! Julia rose before him. Allow her 
husband to defend him ! More horrible almost than 
murder itself did the thouglit appear to him. No, he 
would drink this cup of shame, drop by drop, to its 
very dregs. And, nearly stifled with the weight of his 
remorse and despair, he groaned forth : 

‘‘ Ay ; it was indeed I whom they saw.” 

“ Then what meant your tears, supplications, and 
expostulations in M. de Lignerolles's office ? ” 

“Acting ; mere acting to convince him of my inno- 
cence.” 

Lucien remained silent for some moments. He had 
never loosened his clasp upon his friend’s hand, how- 
ever. 

“And,” he continued, at last, “you authorize me, 
do you not, to inform M. de Lignerolles of your con- 
fession, in order that your avowal may be used at the 
trial to move the jury to indulgence ? ” 

“ Authorize you ! Authorize you — ” Laroque 
gasped, in consternation. Then, all at once, he fell 
back heavily upon his bed, breaking into a fierce par- 
oxysm of tempestuous sobs. 


214 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 

Lucien did nothing to calm the outburst, feeling 
that it had best have its way unchecked ; but when 
Laroque grew somewhat calmer, he looked at him with 
a sweet, sad smile on liis fine, noble face — a smile that 
reflected the complete confidence with which he re- 
garded his friend — and said simply : 

“ Roger, you know very well that I don’t believe 
you.” 

The words were an evidence of a trust so sincere, of 
an affection so true and unswerving, that they lendered 
further attempts on Laroqiie’s part useless. He was 
completely conquered ; longer resistance was impos- 
sible. 

But his singular obstinacy had aroused an uncom- 
fortable suspicion in de Noirville’s breast, an appre- 
hension rather than a suspicion, a sort of unreasoning 
and instinctive feeling of coming evil. However, he 
paid scant heed to it at the time ; it was only later 
that it recurred, with terrible significance, to his mind. 
Still smiling, he continued : 

Now, as you are through with your childishness, — 
for surely only a child or a woman would act as you 
have done, — I suppose that everything is settled be- 
tween us and that I may regard you as my client.” 

“ My dear, dear friend ! ” Laroque stammered, suf- 
focated by his emotion. 

And don’t get discouraged. If you will only listen 
to me and answer my questions frankly, you shall see 
how easily I will unravel this matter.” 

Laroque made a despairing gesture. Hope had 
been done to death in his heart. 

‘‘To begin with, you will answer me candidly, wont 
you ? ” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 215 

Can you doubt it ? Have I ever lied to you ? ” 

No ; but you may be troubled with foolish scru- 
ples, and if you are, don’t forget that you are speaking 
in strict confidence to a friend ; and to a friend one 
should be willing to confess what he would not admit 
either to a judge or a priest.” 

Go on ! ” exclaimed Laroque in a dull tone, for 
he divined that he was about to be subjected to fresh 
tortures. 

“ What you told M. Lacroix in the first place, and 
afterwards repeated to Lienard and de Lignerolles, 
was the exact truth, was it not ? You did not add to, 
or omit anything from, the reality ? ” 

Nothing ; I give you my oath.” 

^^Your simple word is sufficient. Now then,” he 
continued, examining some notes that he had made 
from the magistrate’s brief, ‘‘ the evening of the day 
upon which you paid Larouette, you spent in wander- 
ing about Paris, miserable and half-distracted on ac- 
count of the ruin and disaster which you thought 
inevitable. When you reached Ville d’Avray you were 
still a prey to your mad despair, and you continued 
your vague, purposeless wanderings about the forest, 
tearing your clothing and scratching your hands as 
you came in contact with briars and brambles. This 
is all possible, and to one who knows your character, 
as I do, it is extremely probable.” 

“ It is all true.” 

“Very well. Let us now pass to something else. 
You have been accused of the murder ; moreover it is 
proved that you were seen by your wife and child.” 

“That is impossible ! It is monstrous, outrageous, 
and utterly false ! ” 


2 i 6 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE, 

‘‘ Of course ; but how can you explain it ?” 

‘‘My wife did not admit it.” 

“No ; out of love for you ; but she saw some one, 
nevertheless.” 

“Who?” 

“How do I know ? That is what we must discover. 
M. Lacroix and two very clever detectives, Tristot 
and Pivolot, reconstructed the scene of the murder, 
and assured themselves that from your wife’s balcony 
it was possible to see clearly anything going on in 
Larouette’s cottage.” 

“ Very well ; then they were deceived by a resem- 
blance.” 

“ Do you know any one who resembles you ? ” 

“No.” 

“ We will look it up. Now for the club. Do you 
suspect any of the men who played with you that 
night ? ” 

“No. Besides, M. Lienard investigated that part 
of the affair very carefully, and discovered nothing — 
as you doubtless know.” 

“So now I come to the principal and most impor- 
tant proof against you — the discovery of Larouette’s 
money in your safe. Here we have a material and 
indisputable fact. Whether your wife saw you, or did 
not see you, is doubtless an interesting problem for the 
court to decide ; but what weighs more lieavily against 
you than even her assertion could do, should they suc- 
ceed in making her speak, are these cursed bank- 
notes. Come now, pluck up your courage and speak 
out. Where did they come from ? ” 

“ How do I know ? ” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 21 7 


“ Wait a moment. Is it possible that you do not 
know from whom your debtor received them ! This 
mysterious person, whose name you so obstinately con- 
cealed at the inquest, may not have been himself the 
murderer ; so you do not necessarily implicate him in 
naming him. But it is absolutely necessary that we 
should know who he is, guilty or not, for he furnishes 
us a clue, a scent, as the police say, and in following 
up this scent, we shall be wretchedly unfortunate if we 
do not come upon the truth.” 

” It is useless to try on that side, Lucien. It would 
do you no good.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ I am sure of it.” 

‘‘Oh, ho ! Tell me then, so that I may share your 
certainty, who gave you those notes ?” 

Laroque did not reply. His torture was recom- 
mencing. The lawyer began to laugh. 

“ I do indeed hope,” he said, “ that you are not go- 
ing to try the mysterious dodge with me, as you did 
with the judges ; and I do earnestly beseech you to con- 
sider me more in the light of a friend than of a lawyer. 
It is necessary for me to come to some decision, and 
you must assist me by telling me all you know.” 

“ Pray don't insist, Lucien,” Roger begged tremu- 
lously. 

“ What ! You refuse to tell me ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ Well, this is certainly beyond conception,” Lucien 
muttered. 

“I have warned you, my friend, that it is useless to 
undertake my defense.” 


2i8 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 


Nevertheless, I intend to do so, morbleu ! Even 
in spite of yourself, if it must be.** 

‘‘ 1 beseech you, Lucien ! I can say nothing more.’ 

“ Why ? ’* 

Because honor forbids it.** 

You are causing me great pain, Roger, great pain. 
Your lack of confidence in me is a painful surprise. 
You ought to know me well enough, even if my pro- 
fessional caution did not impose upon me the most 
absolute discretion, to feel convinced that any secret 
you might confide to my keeping would be as sacred 
to me as my own. You assert that honor withholds 
you from speaking ; but don’t forget that honor also 
constrains you to remember your wife and child, on 
whom your condemnation will inflict lasting suffering 
and shame. These two claims of honor are in the 
balance ; which will you obey ?** 

Roger dropped his head, while for a few moments 
Lucien allowed a silence to fall between them, during 
which he never removed his eyes from his friend’s 
face. Then he began to laugh, albeit somewhat 
nervously. 

“ I bet that I can guess your secret,’* he said. 

Roger trembled. Ah ! Could Lucien but suspect, 
poor fellow ! 

“ And if I do guess correctly, will you acknowledge 
it?** 

“Lucien, your gayety hurts me.'* 

“ Let me share your secret and I will weep with you, 
if needs be.” 

Every word that he spoke fell upon Roger’s heart 
like blows from the keen edge of a poniard. Lucien 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 219 

was willing to torture him, to force him to endure a 
thousand torments, if he could attain his purpose by 
no other means ; therefore he continued : 

“I was talking with Julia, yesterday, about you, 
and I told her that your obstinacy led me to con- 
clude that there was some woman at the root of the 
matter.” 

Every drop of blood in Laroque’s body seemed to 
rush to his heart. The shock was so violent and un- 
expected that he fell back upon the bed, choking and 
gasping for breath. 

Lucien was frightened. He hastened to open the 
poor fellow’s shirt collar that he might breathe more 
freely, murmuring to himself as he did so : 

“ I have guessed correctly.” And as Laroque 
slowly recovered his breath, he said, smiling gayly, 
‘‘ Ah ha ! wild oats ! Come, admit it, admit it, 
my boy ! ” 

“ Leave me, Lucien. My friend, you are causing 
me fearful anguish.” 

“ But it is all for your good, as the doctors say. 
So, we admit that it is an adventure — an adventure 
that has become tragic in its consequences. Ah ha ! 
How well you concealed your folly ! I never imagined 
you so adroit. So ! A passion ? or only a caprice ? 
Was the heroine a fine lady or simply an adven- 
turess — an actress, perhaps ? Come, out with it ! 
Speak, speak, and help me in my task, since half the 
truth is discovered.” 

“ My God ! my God ! ” murmured Roger, who 
was a prey to the most intolerable suffering. Wilt 
Thou not have mercy upon me, and cans-t Thou con- 


220 I'HE SHADOW OF ROOER LAROQUE. 


demn me if I have recourse to suicide to end my 
despair ? 

A married woman, doubtless,” continued Lucien, 
inexorable as a surgeon who probes nerve upon nerve 
to reach the root of the wound. A married woman ! 
No, that is impossible ; for haven’t you told me a 
hundred times, haven’t I seen with my own eyes, that 
you adore your own wife and child ! Yet perhaps, in 
a moment of weakness — of temptation, — well, what if 
this be true ? It need not kill a man. Tell me her 
name. I will look her up in secret, and I swear no 
one shall suspect her. I will induce her to accompany 
me to the procureur d'etat and all will turn out 
well. Come, what do you say to it? ” 

“You are mistaken, my friend ; it has nothing to 
do with a woman.” 

“With whom, then?” Roger would not answer, 
and Lucien continued, “ As you will not tell me, let 
me at least go on with my suppositions, which — until 
they are proved to the contrary — seem to me to come 
pretty near the truth.” 

“ Have mercy, Lucien ? ” 

“ No ; no mercy, my lad. I said that it might be 
some married woman who was concerned in the busi- 
ness. I confess, Roger, that I had rather it were some 
mere adventuress. A liaison with a married woman en- 
tails so many unpleasant consequences, and involves one 
in a thousand hypocrisies which arc extremely lowering 
to a man, which smirch and tarnish his honor, and 
leave him, when the fire is burned out, greatly sunken 
in his own self-esteem. A married woman ! Yes — 
there is the husband ! I see — that is the reason you 
say that honor forbids your speaking ! ” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 22 1 

“ Enough, Lucien ! ” exclaimed Roger, in a firm, 
decided tone. “ Either your suppositions are correct, 
in which case your words can have no result save 
that of renewing my sufferings and reviving my re- 
morse, or they are false, and are thus terribly wound- 
ing to my sensibility. Be good enough, my friend, to 
say nothing more on the subject.” 

It was now Lucien's turn to remain silent. A vague 
suspicion had pierced his mind, causing him a momen- 
tary pang. It passed at once, however, and he 
recovered his former tranquillity. Yet he could not 
satisfy himself regarding Roger’s singular conduct. 
His evident perturbation, and determined refusal to 
speak, even at the sacrifice of his life, all appeared to 
him strangely inexplicable and amazing. What grave 
cause could underlie such firmness of resolve ? A 
woman’s hdnor ! But he might surely confess the 
truth to de Noirville, to his intimate friend, without 
sacrificing this honor ! 

In Lucien’s secret soul a voice kept incessantly sug- 
gesting, It is from you, above all others, that he 
desires to conceal the truth.” The lawyer could not 
rid himself of the idea. Even his sincere and loyal 
friendship was powerless to disabuse him of the 
thought. 

He remembered how frivolous and volatile his wife 
was, and then looked at Roger, sitting pale and 
remorseful before him, bearing the very mien and 
aspect of a culprit. Why did he thus involuntarily 
associate the two together ? 

Alas ! How fearfully he suffered for a moment, as 
he yielded to the bitter agony of the haunting sugges- 


22 2 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

tion. But his was a strong spirit, and his friendship 
for Roger was a grand and noble sentiment. He gave 
but a single evidence of the terrible conflict that was 
going on within him. Dropping his eyes as he prof- 
fered the question, he asked, shamefacedly, blushing 
at his own suspicion : 

‘‘ You were, possibly, intimate with her husband ? 
It was a betrayal of friendship, perhaps, on your 
part — and you desire to shield the wife, lest the hus- 
band should avenge himself upon her ?” 

Did Roger divine de Noirville’s suspicion? 

The two men looked at each other, gazing straight 
into each other’s eyes — and Roger’s filled with tears, 
hot, burning, heavy drops of untold misery and shame. 
Then he lied — or no, it was scarcely that, since he 
had not known Lucien at the time of his connection 
with Julia ; he was not then his friend. A betrayal 
of friendship ! No, it could scarcely be called that ! 

And so, having guessed the black suspicion that 
had clouded his friend’s soul with its dark shadow, 
that soul to insure whose peace and tranquillity he 
was about voluntarily to sacrifice all that he held dear 
and sacred in life, he stooped to evasion. 

‘‘Oh, Lucien ! ” he cried. “Oh, my friend ! Could 
you think me so base as that ! ” 

His throat contracted, his voice failed him, and he 
sat speechless and still, unable to say another word. 

Lucien threw his arm about his neck and pressed 
him to him, embracing him with all the strength of his 
passionate friendship. 

“But look, Roger,” he argued despairingly — “just 
think what harm your silence will bring, not only upon 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 223 

yourself, but upon others ! Once more let me beg you, 
in the names of your wife and daughter, to consider. 
If you don’t confess where these notes came from, you 
are lost beyond doubt. Do you understand ? Hope- 
lessly, irrevocably condemned. Then what will be- 
come of Henriette and Suzanne ? Were I rich I would 
promise to take care of them ; but I am poor. And 
then what a disgraceful legacy you will bequeath to 
them, my friend ! Don’t deceive yourself, Roger. 
Don’t build any false hopes, for I tell you now that, if 
you do not explain this matter, there is absolutely no 
escape for you. What can I say in your defense ? It 
almost seems as though you rejoiced in taking my only 
weapons for your salvation out of my hands.” 

‘‘ Ay, it is a sorry business ; and that is why I wish 
you not to undertake it.” 

“You are wrong, then. You are innocent — I know 
it, and will defend you in any event. I may at least 
be able to save your life ; for, my poor lad, I must 
confess that this is a question of life or death.” 

“ I am fully aware of that.” 

“ Even were you guilty, I should still defend you, 
for I can never forget what has passed between us, 
and the affection wliich has united our lives in one.” 

“ How noble you are ! ” 

“ Not so noble as you imagine, Roger ; for I own 
that I feel a grudge against you and that I cannot for- 
give you for concealing your secret from me. I shall 
never stop, however, till I discover it.” 

Roger shook his head sadly. 

“You think I shall fail ! ” said Lucien. “Well, I 
am not so sure of that.” He rose, and held out both 


524 the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE. 

hands to the unhappy prisoner — ‘‘ Good-by, dear old 
fellow ! ” he said. ‘‘I shall come to see you again be- 
fore the trial. Keep on your guard, and don’t be sur- 
prised at anything I may spring on you. Since you 
must be saved in spite of yourself, well — I shall save 
you — that’s all ! ” 

Roger picked up the crutches and handed them to 
de Noirville. The latter took his leave, and for some 
moments Laroque stood motionless, with his ear pressed 
to the grating of the door, that he might listen to the 
departing echoes of the wooden supports. The sounds 
grew fainter and fainter, until they became quite lost 
in the distance ; then, his mighty strength vanquished, 
his sore and aching heart bursting beneath the strain 
laid upon it, his face tortured by emotion almost 
beyond recognition, Laroque fell heavily back against 
the wall of his narrow cell, muttering with hoarse, 
broken voice and rigid lips : 

It is beyond endurance ! — too heavy retribution ! — 
the sin did not merit the punishment. My God !— ^my 
God ! ” 

And so he remained for long, long minutes, sunken 
in the bitterest of all reveries, that which has for its 
subject a man’s own misused life. 


CHAPTER XI. 


HE next day Lucien again entered the train at 



1 the Saint Lazare station, but this time it was not 
to go to Versailles, but to Ville d’Avray ; arrived 
there, he took a carriage and was driven to Villa 
Montalais. His aim was to see and converse with 
Henriette, hoping that he might obtain some valuable 
information from the young wife. 

As he entered the grounds of the pretty villa he was 
struck by their air of desertion. The gate was open 
and he approached without ringing and knocked at 
the entrance door. Meeting with no response, he 
pushed it open and entered the hall. This, too, was 
deserted and still, and, being unable to find a servant, 
he mounted the stairs with considerable difficulty. 

He was about half-way up when he heard steps 
behind him. Some one was coming hastily after him. 
He turned, and discovered one of the servants, the 
coachman. 

‘‘Ah! M. de Noirville ! cried the man, who had 
often seen the lawyer in his master’s company. “ How 
terrible it is ! Hurry, hurry, sir 1 ” 

“ What is the matter ? ” 

“ Madame is dying ! ’’ 

“ Great God ! How dreadful I Poor, poor, Roger ! ” 
and, aided by the coachman, he hastened up the 
remaining stairs. 


225 


226 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


The door of the salon was standing wide open, as 
was that of Henriette’s chamber, which opened into it. 
The coachman went softly forward and knelt down 
in a corner beside the cook, while M. de Noirville 
entered the chamber of death. 

Leaning over the bed was Dr. Martinaud, who seemed 
to be watching for the final breath of the dying woman ; 
while at a little distance knelt an old man, praying — 
an old man with a dark face, clean shaven except for 
chin whiskers, and red eyes. It was Uncle Benardit, 
whom Henriette had summoned thither. 

He had arrived the previous evening and Mme. 
Laroque had at once confided Suzanne to his care ; 
then, as if she had only waited to perform this duty to 
her child, she had begun immediately to sink. 

There was one more occupant of the room — poor 
little Suzanne, whom they had "been unable to tear 
from her mother’s bed, and whose mute despair was 
fearful to contemplate. 

Although Mme. Laroque was still living, her eyes 
had assumed the glassy film of death. Her arms lay 
extended upon the coverings, and occasionally they 
could see her move her fingers with a weak, spasmodic 
motion. Suddenly she seemed to revive a little and 
her gaze became more animated. The supreme 
moment was fast approaching. She opened her 
great, blue eyes to their extreme width and looked 
about her — at the doctor, at Benardit, and then at 
Lucien. 

She recognized them all, for she smiled feebly at 
them — a poor, wan smile that lay sadly upon her thin, 
emaciated features. Then she concentrated heratten- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 227 

tion wholly on her child. Raising her right arm slowly, 
she placed her trembling hand tenderly on Suzanne’s 
fair curls and left it there a moment. 

“ My daughter ! ” she whispered. ‘‘ My precious 
little one, forgive him ; — for — give — him ! 

Her last thought was for Laroque, her last caress 
for Suzanne, for, even as she spoke, her hand dropped 
from the child’s head, glided heavily across her face, 
fell inertly upon her shoulder, and then dropped to the 
bed. She was dead. 

“ It is over,” said Dr. Martinaud gently ; and this 
child is a poor little orphan indeed ! ” 

Suzanne understood at once, and, stooping quickly, 
she pressed her lips upon the dead one she loved so 
well. They tried to raise her, to tear her away from 
the sad scene ; but it was impossible. Dr. Martinaud 
frowned. ^ 

“ It is too much for such a delicate brain,” he said 
to Bena'rdit and de Noirville ; ‘‘lam afraid the child 
will become insane.” 

It was not until evening, when, exhausted by grief 
and weariness, nature had asserted her sway and the 
child had fallen into a heavy sleep across her mother’s 
dead body, that they were able to get her from the 
room. 

Lucien’s mission had failed. He had proposed to 
question Henriette, but he had come too late. Before 
his departure he held a brief conversation with 
Benardit. 

“You are Roger’s lawyer, monsieur?” asked the 
old forge-master. 

“ His lawyer and his friend.” 


228 the shadow of ROGER LAROQDE. 


What do you think of this sad business ? 

Do you ask the lawyer or the friend ? ” 

‘‘Both.” 

“ As Roger’s friend, I am convinced of his inno- 
cence ; I never could, and never shall doubt it for a 
moment.” 

“ And as his lawyer ? ” 

“ I am equally convinced that he cannot escape 
being convicted.” 

‘'You will see him before long, doubtless ? ” 

“ To-morrow. Am I not obliged to break this bit- 
ter news to him ? ” 

“ Tell him then, that whatever may be his sentence, 
his child shall always find a father in me, and a mother 
in my wife ; that we shall love her all the better because 
we have no children of our own.” 

I will tell him gladly, monsieur, you may be sure. 
Do you leave Ville d’Avray immediately after the 
burial ? ” 

“ No, that will be impossible. Some one must look 
after the business in the Rue Saint Maur. I must see 
to it myself. I shall ^wait the result of the trial, 
especially as — especially as, if he is sentenced, Laroque 
will want to see his child once more. I should never 
forgive myself, monsieur, if I deprived him of this 
poor satisfaction. So I shall stay. You will find me 
either here or in the Rue Saint Maur, Paris.” 

“You are an honest, noble man, M. Benardit.” 

“ And you too, monsieur, since you believe in my 
nephew’s innocence.” 

The two men shook hands. Lucien took the return 
train to Paris and, the next day, paid Roger a visit in 
prison. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 229 

My friend,” he said, after their greetings were 
over, prepare yourself for a new and sad misfortune.” 

My child is dead ! ” the poor fellow exclaimed, 
with a terrible cry. 

No, not your child, Roger, but your wife.” 

As if struck by a mighty hand, Laroque fell forward 
upon his knees, burying his face in his hands. It was 
long before he spoke, though his eyes remained dry 
and his body motionless. Suddenly he lifted his head 
and muttered hoarsely : 

^‘So much the better, Lucien ! So much the better 
if she is dead ! She believed me guilty, and so believ- 
ing, what a terrible existence she would have led ! 
Now, if there is, as people say, another life beyond 
tliis, Henriette at this very moment knows that I am 
innocent,” and, nodding his head sadly, he repeated 
again and again : 

So much the better, Lucien ; ay, so much the 
better ! — ” 


CHAPTER XIL 


L UCIEN paid Roger many visits before the trial 
came on. He was extremely anxious to discover 
the reason of Laroque’s strange obstinacy, and to di- 
vine the secret which he was so bent upon concealing. 

But Roger remained impervious to every attack, and 
the prayers, entreaties, and friendly expostulations of 
de Noirville found him alike invulnerable. Finally, 
somewhat hurt and provoked by what he termed Ba- 
roque’s want of confidence in him, Lucien abandoned 
the attempt. 

But his faith in his friend suffered no diminution, 
and he continued to proclaim Roger’s innocence with 
the same firm conviction. 

The day of the trial finally arrived. Lucien had not 
been mistaken in his assertion that all Paris would 
flock to Versailles to hear him again argue a case. 

The newspapers, which had carefully reported the 
details of the affair from its very beginning, had made 
large capital of the close friendship that existed be- 
tween the prisoner and his counsel. 

De Noirville had received many visits from divers 
reporters and had widely instructed them concerning 
the case, desiring to excite public interest in his cli- 
ent’s favor, if possible. As the police had also made 
public the most dramatic details of the inquest, the 
papers had been able to inform their readers pretty 
230 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 231 


exactly, and therefore it was common property that the 
principal charge against the prisoner was a packet of 
bank-notes found in his possession which had for- 
merly been the property of the murdered Larouette; it 
was also known that Laroque maintained that he had 
received them from another, though who this other 
was he stoutly refused to disclose. 

Many theories were promulgated regarding the mat- 
ter, some of which came perilously near the truth. It 
offered the widest license to the imagination, but even 
in the wildest and most unlikely conjectures ^ woman 
always played a prominent part. 

The lawyer entered the court-room slowly, sup- 
ported by one of his professional brethren. The 
black cap and gown made his pale, distinguished face 
look even yet paler and more emaciated. His fea- 
tures looked wan and weary but his eyes shone with 
fire and keen intelligence. Having reached his seat, 
he deposited his crutches by his side and turning, cast 
a long* steady glance over the assemblage from his 
clear, honest eyes. 

He greeted all those whom he knew with a slight 
nod of recognition, but no smile moved his lips or dis- 
turbed the earnestness of his gaze ; he was far too sad 
and apprehensive for even the outward semblance of 
gayety. 

When the prisoner was brought in, de Noirville 
arose and held out both hands to him, drawing the 
attention of the whole court-room upon them, as he 
kissed his friend upon both cheeks. Every whisper 
had ceased, and silence reigned. 

The simple little act of fraternal affection, so natu- 


232 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

rally and spontaneously performed, touched every 
heart. Lucien had made good his remark to Julia : 

‘‘ If I have no other means of defending him, I will 
at least testify to my belief in his innocence by pub- 
licly manifesting it.” 

After the accusation had been read, the witnesses 
were called, and Roger watched the persons who have 
played a part in this narrative defile slowly past the 
judge and jury. None of them cherished animosity 
toward him ; on the contrary, each, as he appeared, 
sent a sad, compassionate glance in the direction of the 
prisoner’s box. 

Tranquil and composed, almost indifferent one 
would have said, Laroque listened to the depositions 
of the various witnesses, meeting every look of com- 
miseration cast upon him with a quiet smile. 

But he was suddenly shorn of his composure when 
the judge ordered the introduction of : 

‘‘Suzanne Laroque, daughter of the accused.” 

He started erect as if touched by an electric wire 
and clutched his temples spasmodically with both 
hands, while a visible shudder convulsed him from 
head to foot ; then he suddenly fell back into his seat 
as if unable to support his heavy burden of suffering, 
and sat crouched together in a heap, with his head 
lowered and resting upon his breast. 

Deep murmurs of discontent filled the court at the 
judge’s command. It seemed a frightfully hideous 
thing to oblige a daughter, a mere baby, to testify 
against her father ! It was undoubtedly within the 
judge’s right to summon her, but what a sad, dreadful 
exercise of right it was ! 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 233 

The court-room was agitated by a confused com- 
motion ; a natural revulsion of feeling moved the 
throng. - A shudder of horror, displeasure, and appre- 
hension ran through the assemblage. 

A voice — that of a woman — was heard to say : 

No, no ; that’s not right ! That should not be 
allowed ! ” 

The judge frowned and drew himself stiffly erect 
in his chair. He was a dried, withered-up man, with 
hard, cold eyes, a long nose, and thin lips, about whose 
corners clustered a mass of fine, small wrinkles, so 
indistinct and inseparable as to have the appearance 
of a scar. 

The muttering grew louder, while another voice, a 
man’s this time, was heard to say : 

Laroque may have committed a crime, but the law 
is equally criminal in obliging his daughter to con- 
demn him ! ” 

I shall order the court-room cleared,” threatened 
the judge, in a stern, harsh tone. 

The murmurs abated, an occasional whisper was 
heard for a minute or ' so, and then silence again 
settled on the assembly. 

Suzanne was brought in. As her eyes fell upon her 
father she stopped short, in breathless agony, and it 
was necessary to urge, almost to carry her to make her 
advance. 

Many a mother’s heart in that great crowd was 
wrung with pity and sympathy. 

Mechanically Roger stretched out his trembling 
hands to the little one, but he was not allowed to em- 
brace her. 


234 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. * 

The arguments were listened to with the liveliest 
curiosity ; a curiosity greatly enhanced by the hitherto 
honorable and irreproachable character of the prisoner, 
by the mystery enshrouding certain portions of the 
evidence, by the marked and renowned talent of 
Lucien de Noirville, by his friendship for Laroque, and 
the two men’s devotion to each other during the war ; 
also by the crippled condition of the lawyer which 
obliged him to enter the court-room on crutches and 
to keep his seat while pleading, by the sudden and 
pathetic death of the prisoner’s wife, and by the efforts 
made to induce Suzanne to speak ; efforts as useless 
and unavailing in her case as in that of her mother. 

Lucien had paid an early visit to Roger at Versailles 
that very morning, and had asked, as he grasped him 
warmly-by the hand : 

‘‘ So, you are determined ! You will not tell me 
anything ? ” 

I cannot.” 

‘^Very well, then ; I will perform the impossible. 
Cheer up ! ” 

He had taken several steps toward leaving when he 
turned and went back. 

‘‘ I must inform you that you will probably soon see 
your daughter.” 

“Ah !” exclaimed Laroque joyfully. But a word 
from de Noirville quickly repressed his elation. 

“You will indeed see her,” he said, “but alas ! it 
will be in the presence of the whole court. The judge 
has made use of his discretionary power to summon 
her to Versailles. He desires to examine her before 
you and us.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 235 


They will kill her, my God ! — kill her ! 

‘‘ Cheer up ! my friend, cheer up, I say. I shall be 
near you/' 

When the arguments began, the sympathy, as well 
as the curiosity of the multitude, was plainly with de 
Noirville. 

The judge began his examination of Suzanne. 

My child, do you recognize that man there ? He 
is your father, is he not ? " 

Suzanne made a gesture of assent.* 

“ Do you love your father ? ” 

^‘Yes/’ 

“ Where is your mother ? ’* 

‘‘ Dead.” 

What made her die ? ” 

1 do not know.” 

“ From the balcony of your house you saw a man 
enter Larouette^s cottage and kill him as he was 
counting his money, didn’t you ?” 

The child said nothing. 

“ What sort of clothes did this man wear ? How 
was he dressed ? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“You must have recognized your father as you 
cried ^ Papa ! Papa ! ' ” 

“No.” 

“ You are telling a falsehood, for Victoire, your 
chambermaid, heard you.” 

Suzanne remained silent and the judge tried to re- 
assure her. 


* The majority of the following questions and answers were taken down 
literally by the author. 


236 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQU^. 

I know what a good, sensible little girl you are, and 
I want you to understand that no one will hurt you. 
Now, you saw a man in Larpuette’s chamber and I 
want you to tell me how he was dressed. Did he 
look like your father ? 

“ I do not know.” 

Did you know him ? Was it your father ? ” 

‘‘ I do not know.” 

“ But your mother knew him — your poor dead 
mother ! You heard your mother say something, 
didn’t you ? You loved mamma, didn’t you ? ” 

Oh, yes, yes ! ” 

Try to remember the man you saw, my child. 
You recognized him, didn’t you ? ” 

I did not see any one.” 

The judge turned to the prisoner. 

“Your child’s silence condemns you,” he said. 

“ Alas ! monsieur, I have begged her to speak, but 
she will not listen to me.” 

“ It must be because what she knows is much worse 
than what her silence implies.” 

“ Monsieur, will you be good enough to ask her 
who told her to speak as she does ? ” * 

The judge put the question to the child, who replied 
instantly and energetically : 

“ No one.” 

“Ask,” suggested Roger, “if it was not her 
mother ? ” 

“ Didn’t your mother tell you something ? What 
did she say to you ? ” 


* Fact. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 237 

“ Nothing.” 

Did not your mother tell you to act as you are 
doing ? ” 

“ No, monsieur ; she told me nothing.” 

If you are lying, you are doing a very wicked 
thing, especially when you are speaking of your father. 
Was it your father whom you saw in Larouette's 
room ? ” 

Silence from the child. 

You must answer, my dear. Say yes or no.” 

Another silence. 

‘‘ She will never disobey her mother,” said Laroque, 
‘‘especially now that she is dead.” 

The scene was most touching. The child’s very 
presence seemed instinct with nobility and heroic re- 
solve. Every one understood what her silence signi- 
fied : she had seen her father but was determined 
not to confess it. 

Law, the court newspaper, reported as follows : 
“The child, leaning her elbow on the judge’s desk and 
with her chin supported by her hand, wore a careful, 
anxious expression ; her glance was lowered, and her 
face and voice were both marked by a gravity far in 
excess of her age, and which seemed to have been im- 
pressed upon her by the harrowing spectacle which 
she had witnessed.” * 

The judge descended from his bench, took the child 
by the hand and led her to a position directly in front 
of the jury, where he repeated the questions which he 
had already put to her. 


* Fact. 


238 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

The excitement of the audience liad reached fever- 
heat. Most of the jurors were pale and sad, and some 
of them were obliged to turn aside their heads. 

“ Laroque,” said the judge, at last, “ will you ques- 
tion your daughter, yourself ?” 

No,’’ replied the prisoner, I will not. Others 
may question her if they will, but for my part, she 
may speak or not as she chooses ; I shall not trouble 
her.” * 

You do not desire to put some questions to her ? 
Look well at your father, my child. Was it he who 
killed your neighbor Larouette ? ” 

‘‘ I do not know.” 

You are not telling a lie ? ” 

‘‘No.” 

“You have been told about the good God? You 
know that he will punish you if you do not speak the 
truth ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“You are not afraid that you will be sent to hell 
for lying ? ” * 

“No.”* 

Here a characteristic incident took place. Suzanne 
burst into tears, and when the judge asked her why 
she wept, she replied : 

“ Because I am looking at papa.” 

A juror, who could not control his emotion any 
longer, broke in : 

“I think, monsieur, that we know enough.” * 

In his capacity as counsel for the defense, Lucien 


* Fact. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 239 

de Noirville demanded that the court should require 
the juror to explain what he meant by this. 

Bidden to explain himself, the man said that he had 
spoken merely from a sympathetic impulse caused by 
the child’s evident misery, but that he had never 
formed an opinion regarding the case. Three other 
jurors, who had supported their colleague’s exclama- 
tion by look and manner, made the same declaration. 

It was the cry of the flesh, the cry of humanity, pro- 
testing against so unnatural and harrowing a scene. 

Suzanne was allowed to withdraw. 

The examination of Laroque which now took place 
brought forth no particular results. Roger simply 
affirmed his innocence. He was obliged to respond 
to the same questions of detail which had already 
been put to him by M. de Lignerolles, M. Lienard, 
and Lacroix. 

He answered in a firm voice, but with exceeding 
simplicity. But he was weary, terribly, unutterably 
weary, and he longed for the trial and its attendant tor- 
tures to come to an end, whatever that end might be. 

When Lucien de Noirville opened his defense a 
thrill of excitement animated the assemblage. Ba- 
roque’s condemnation seemed such a foregone con- 
clusion that people wondered by what methods the 
lawyer expected to influence the jury in his client’s 
favor. 

De Noirville began his argument in a low tone, 
which became impassioned as he proceeded, until it 
grew ardent, vibrant, and strong with his fervid elo- 
quence. He did not attempt to dispute any of the 
evidence unearthed by the inquest, but contented him- 


240 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

self with paying grand and noble tribute to his friend’s 
character, describing his past honorable and unim- 
peachable career, his simple, upright life as a family 
and business man. In sympathetic, moving terms he 
pictured Laroque’s desperation when confronted with 
the necessity of repaying to Larouette the sum which 
must needs insure his own ruin. He showed him 
wretched, hunted, despairing, contemplating suicide as 
his only means of escape from torturing anxiety. He 
followed him minute by minute through his aimless, 
distracted wanderings through the streets of Paris and 
the woods of Ville d’Avray in his vain efforts to divert 
his mind by fatigue of body. 

He offered as proof of Roger’s inability to conceive 
of such a thing as his own implication in the crime, 
the fact of his having gone to M. Lacroix immediately 
upon hearing of the murder, with the information that 
a considerable sum had been paid Larouette by him 
on that very day. 

He also demonstrated that if Roger had been indeed 
the murderer, his first act would have been to conceal 
the fruits of his crime, the stolen bank-notes. Instead 
of this, he appeared at his office the same morning in 
gayer spirits than usual, owing to the prospect of escap- 
ing from the impending failure which had menaced 
him. Upon reaching his office, he had at once con- 
fided one hundred notes of a thousand francs each, to 
his cashier. Would he have acted thus had he been 
the actual criminal ? Would he not naturally have 
feared that these notes, found in his possession, would 
incriminate him, and would not his first thought have 
been to change them to avoid suspicion ? 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 241 

Assuredly. The simplest prudence would have 
prompted him to act with the greatest precaution and 
to destroy any clew that might lead to his arrest, had he 
been guilty ; but, being innocent, no idea of precaution 
or evasion had occurred to him. He then dwelt upon 
these notes and upon the mysterious debtor whom the 
accused so stoutly refused to name. He announced 
that he, counsel for the defendant, had almost solved 
the mystery and had discovered that Laroque's silence 
was induced by honorable scruples ; that the matter 
was one of those delicate issues to which a man worthy 
the name would prefer to sacrifice fortune, freedom, 
aye, life itself, rather than reveal its details. 

By veiled innuendoes, since his conclusion was 
merely a matter of guess-work, he implied that the 
affair involved a woman's fair fame, which it was the 
simplest duty of an honorable man to guard from evil 
report. He drew a dramatic picture of this woman 
torn by conflicting duties, assisting perhaps at the trial 
itself, mingling perhaps in this very throng, distracted 
and perplexed by two opposite necessities, that of 
speaking and exculpating the prisoner, and that of pre- 
serving, for the sake of her husband and children, the 
name which no breath of slander or suspicion had ever 
smirched. 

At this point in his argument, de Noirville's voice 
failed him somewhat. He had been speaking steadily 
for an hour, and was tired. He begged the judge to 
order a short recess. His desire was granted. 

The opinions of the audience were widely dis- 
similar, though it was easy to see that Lucien had 
gained the sympathy of the women, to whose imagina- 
tions his arguments had strongly appealed. 


242 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

Indeed, fully comprehending how worse than useless 
it would be'to attempt to controvert the mass of evi- 
dence which had accumulated against his client, 
Lucien had aimed entirely at the hearts of the jurors, 
setting himself to interest them in Laroque’s person- 
ality and using all the eloquence of which he was 
master to convince them of his own faith in the 
prisoner’s integrity. 

He had begun to speak, seated, but, embarrassed by 
his position, which rendered him invisible to nearly half 
the audience and impeded his gestures, he gradually 
became carried away by his own warmth and suddenly 
starting erect, he stood and harangued the court, a 
nobler, grander figure than he had ever before ap- 
peared, positively transfigured by the intensity of his 
enthusiastic love for his friend. 

Though it was a good two years since he had been 
heard in public, it was plainly apparent that his talent 
was quite unimpaired by disuse and that he still 
maintained his extraordinary power over humanity. 
He felt this early in his speech, and the consciousness 
gave him added assurance. 

His position was quite close to Roger, and as, from 
time to time, he spoke of Laroque, desdribing his up- 
rightness, his nobility, and his devoted love of his wife 
and child, his thin, white hand would involuntarily seek 
that of the prisoner and hold it in a firm, close clasp. 

His defense was certainly a singular and unique 
affair, a drama within a drama. During the recess, de 
Noirville remained by Roger’s side, and the latter 
seized the opportunity of pouring forth his warm, 
heartfelt gratitude. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 243 

“ How good you are, Liicien ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! It is my trade,” de Noirville replied, 
laughing. 

“ Don’t slander yourself. You are speaking from 
the depths of your heart and I know it. It is impossible 
to mistake certain accents.” 

“ Could I defend you in any language but that of 
my very soul, Roger ?” 

And yet it is a terrible waste ! For I know that 
even your great talent cannot save my neck.” 

‘‘ Your neck ! Are you crazy ? I know myself 
pretty well. All will go well. Your neck is safe, even 
now, but that is not sufficient. I shall not be satisfied 
unless I procure your freedom.” 

Laroque merely sighed heavily in response. 

Ah, man of little faith ! ” exclaimed Lucien, chi- 
dingly, smiling still in his supreme self-confidence. 

After a half-hour’s rest the hearing was resumed. 
Roger’s fate was about to be decided. 

De Noirville had reserved the worthless, unavailing 
attempts made upon poor little Suzanne and her 
mother for the second part of his argument, being 
determined to work upon the jurors’ feelings by a re- 
hearsal of the harrowing martyrdom to which the 
innocent creatures had been subjected. 

He meant to impress his auditors with the distress- 
ing situation in which the mother and child had been 
placed ; deceived by an extraordinary resemblance to 
the being who was dearest upon earth to both, they 
had been tortured to acknowledge what they must not 
avow for fear of implicating this beloved one. He 
also calculated much upon the effect to be produced 


244 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

by the relation of Roger’s earnest and fruitless at- 
tempts to induce them to speak, attempts which surely 
could have been only made by one strong in the con- 
sciousness of his own innocence. 

These were the points upon which he chiefly de- 
pended. He had been talking for about five minutes, 
liis audience hanging spellbound on his words, when 
a messenger of the courts softly opened a door and 
handed a letter to the usher in waiting. The latter 
took the envelope and glanced at the address. It was 
simply this : 

“ Monsieur Lucien de Noirville, Court of Assizes.” 

The man waited until the lawyer had reached a 
period, in order not to interrupt him, and then ap- 
proached and handed him the letter. De Noirville 
examined the writing as he went on with his speech. 
It was unfamiliar. Still continuing his argument, he 
tore open the envelope and let it fall unheeded at his 
feet. Still talking, he unfolded the inclosed sheet, but 
waited a few moments before glancing at its contents. 

Finally he paused and drank a swallow of water, cast- 
ing at the same time a cheerful smile at Laroque, a 
smile that seemed to say : 

“ Courage ! I was not mistaken. All goes well.” 

Then he glanced at the letter. 

At first he comprehended nothing. Letters and 
words seemed to dance confusedly before his eyes. 
He raised his head and his face appeared strangely 
white and wan ; his eyes looked bewildered and his 
lips pinched and thin. He re-read the letter and 
Laroque, whose gaze was fastened upon his face, was 
shocked and startled by the terrible change that had 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 245 

come over it. Its very features seemed altered and 
s!irunken by some horrible, unexpected blow. And 
still he continued to read and reread the contents of 
that mysterious sheet, as if its intelligence was couched 
in strange, undecipherable characters. 

Yet the letter was short; it simply said : 

“ You have undertaken Roger Laroque’s defense as if he were 
not your wife’s lover ; and a moment since, with a smile on your 
lips, you made an allusion to an affair of gallantry which had re- 
sulted in the repayment of a hundred thousand francs to your 
client. That is indeed the simple truth, monsieur. Go home and 
ask your wife about it, or, better still, turn to Laroque and ques- 
tion him.” 

The letter was from Luversan, who was watching the 
trial. Fearing that Lucien would save Laroque he 
determined to prevent his vengeance from escaping 
him. 

Like a flash of lightning certainty suddenly scat- 
tered the doubts and shadows in de Noirville’s soul. 
Before his rudely awakened vision trooped all the 
evasions and hesitations which Laroque had demon- 
strated, not only before his judges but in the presence 
of Lucien himself. 

He recalled the prisoner’s profound agitation when 
he had first announced his intention of defending him. 
Did not his absolute refusal to accept de Noirville for 
his counsel throw light upon many things ? Had he not 
invented the most absurd reasons to excuse his refusal ? 

His dread of a defeat for Lucien, for example ! 
The merest rubbish. His confession of guilt, in which 
Lucien had refused to believe ! Then there was his 


246 THE shadow' OF ROGER LAROQDE. 

sudden alarming seizure, with its apoplectic symptoms, 
and his terrible prostration when, half-laughingly, 
Lucien had suggested a woman’s probable connection 
with the affair ! — when he had mentioned the husband 
of this supposed woman ! 

How clearly now he understood all these puzzling 
details ! 

This woman was his own wife. And he had treated 
the affair as a mere adventure ! a harmless lark ! 
smiling with the good-humored toleration with which 
men consider such matters. He had even joked at 
the husband’s expense — and now, oh, horror ! he had 
discovered that he was that husband ! 

At another time he would have put no faith in an 
anonymous letter, but now it had come at just the right 
moment to give substance to the awful suspicion that 
had taken birth within him some days previous. 

He had used every effort to strangle the vile sugges- 
tion and had believed it dead ; instead of which it had 
merely slumbered, increasing its proportions while it 
slept. 

The fear of Lucien which Roger had evinced in 
prison had spoken even more plainly than an actual 
confession. 

When poison enters the blood, there is an end to 
life ; when doubt enters the soul, there is an end of 
peace and tranquillity of mind. 

Julia, the mistress of Roger ! — of his friend, his com- 
rade in arms ! — of the dearest being in the world, the 
man whom he had loved and cherished above all others! 
Oh, infamy ! 

The mistress of the man whom at this very moment 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 247 

he was defending from possible death ! — whose cause 
he had espoused before all the world and in whose 
innocence he, alone, believed ! Oh, credulity ! Of 
the man for whose sake he had summoned up all 
the remaining strength of his shattered frame, even 
at a deadly risk to himself, — for during the last hour 
of his argument he had felt himself attacked by a con> 
suming fire, a baleful, torrid heat which withered and 
exhausted his body as if the shell which that rent him 
asunder at Sedan had left in his crippled trunk a por- 
tion of its own deadly flame. 

A moment since he had told himself that even if 
this supreme effort should cost him his life, he should 
die saving Roger. 

Roger his wife’s lover ! Parbleu ! the thing was 
worth the effort. To tear from the guillotine or the 
galleys the man who has robbed you of your greatest 
happiness, who has betrayed the holiest bonds of 
friendship, who has dishonored you and smitten you 
in your tenderest relations is scarcely a common 
action ! It is that either of a saint or a philosopher ! 

But Lucien was neither the one nor the other. He 
was a man ; a man suffering the most fearful moral 
agony of which the human soul is capable. 

There are certain heart-dramas which the pen is 
totally incapable of portraying ; no words are adequate 
to express their dread suffering, and the pen hangs 
motionless and inert before the stupendous task of 
depicting them. Of such a character was the drama 
that was now being enacted within Lucien’s soul. 

Upon reading the terrible lines he had fallen back 
so heavily into his chair that people thought that he 


248 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 

must be ill. The gendarmes pressed around him, but 
he dispersed them with a gesture. 

It is nothing, nothing,” he stammered hoarsely, 
and his glance sought the anxious gaze of Laroque. 
Infamy ! ” his motionless lips seemed to cry. 

Laroque felt his life departing from him. His eyes 
grew wide with fear. He leaned forward and ad- 
dressed de Noirville : 

‘‘ What do you say ? ” he gasped, with white lips. 

I say,” Lucien replied, in a low tone, that you 
are a thousand times more infamous than the vilest 
and lowest of common murderers ! ” 

Lucien ! ” 

say that you merit the scorn of the most aban- 
doned wretches ! ‘I say that you have been my wife’s 
lover ! ” 

Lucien ! ” 

Look me in the face and dare to deny it.” 

Laroque could better have encountered the eyes of 
Medusa herself, than those of the outraged husband. 
He buried his face in his hands and thus confessed his 
fault. All this, which has taken so long in the telling, 
occupied scarcely five minutes, and during these five 
minutes there was silence in the court-room. But 
such was the charm produced by his eloquence that 
no one wondered or cavilled at de Noirville’s silence ; 
his magic words still seemed ringing in their ears. 

They knew him to be an invalid ; they knew that it 
had required a very prodigy of energy to get him to 
the court ; that nothing short of his absolute devotion 
to his friend could have rendered him capable of the 
exertion. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 249 

And so they waited patiently. 

He felt that he must speak, that he must continue 
his argument. To delay longer would be to arouse 
suspicion and comment. But could he go on? Was 
it possible for him to finish his defense ? 

What could he say now ? He had no longer 
sufficient strength to enable him to stand erect. It 
seemed to him as though the icy chill of death were 
stealing into his veins. He felt as if some horrible 
agony were tearing asunder his very heart-strings, and 
with an impulsive, hurried gesture he pressed his 
handkerchief to his lips. When he withdrew it, it 
was red with blood. 

He hastily concealed the ominous stains without 
their being discovered, although all eyes were fixed 
upon him. 

Silence still held the room, for the vast audience 
were patiently waiting for him to break it. 

He was utterly oblivious of his surroundings. One 
thing alone engrossed his mind, — the fact of his wife’s 
shame and his friend’s treason. 

What should he do ? Continue to defend this man ? 
Defend him ! 

A moment ago he believed in his innocence ! — now 
he knew not what he believed. What reason had he 
for ever believing in him ? His faith in Roger’s honor 
and loyalty. And what had become of these fine 
traits? Might not a faithless friend easily degenerate 
into a robber and murderer? 

Defend him ! Rather would he loudly accuse him ; 
turn now to that great throng, to all the assembled 
lawyers, judges, and jurors, whose questioning gaze 


2SO THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

was even now fixed in surprise upon him, and cry 
aloud : 

‘‘You see this man! Once I had faith in hini 
despite your proofs, even despite myself. I never for 
one instant doubted his innocence ; never for one in- 
stant. Well, all is changed. I deliver him up to you ; 
— I even accuse him myself of an added crime, one 
concerning which the law is too lenient, .since it ruins 
two lives. I abandon him and I retract all that I 
have said here in your presence. Those glowing 
words by whose means I tried to move you, those elo- 
quent gestures into which I threw my whole soul, 
those arguments which I drew from the best sources 
of my being, all, all were mere empty rhetorical non- 
sense. Nothing of it is true, nothing ! nothing ! I 
believe none of it, not one word ! ” Again his eyes 
sought those of Laroque, while his lips murmured 
anew : 

“ Oh ! infamy ! infamy ! ” 

“ M. de Noirville,'’ said the judge, at last, “will yon 
be good enough to proceed ; the court is listening.” 

He was forced to go on. Ah ! what a dire neces- 
sity ! By a supreme effort he managed to stand erect 
upon his feet, and as the fatal letter that had unsealed 
his eyes to the truth still remained open in his hand, 
he mechanically folded it up and placed it in his 
pocket. His one instinctive desire was that no one 
but himself should have knowledge of it. At least let 
his dishonor remain hidden from the world ! 

Standing erect and motionless in the open court, he 
sought to regain his self-possession. He cast a quick 
comprehensive glance around him. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 251 


In front sat Justice, represented by men who were 
well known to him in their ordinary life, whose vices, 
faults, and follies were perfectly familiar to his knowl- 
edge, but who, in their present position, were no 
longer men, but were invested with a singular majesty ; 
weak, erring mortals no more, but representatives of a 
sacred, divine principle. Justice 1 The judge in his 
red robe looked like a statue of embodied Right, a 
type and representative of the modern god called 
Law ! 

De Noirville shuddered. They were no longer men, 
he felt, whom he was addressing. Those figures before 
him possessed a limitless power, far beyond any which 
to-day is exercised by prince or monarch ; the su- 
preme power of life or death. To them it was given 
to prolong life or to hasten the coming of death. 
This was what was before him. Behind him gaped 
banal curiosity, with which he concerned himself not 
at all. But near, very near to him, between the 
motionless figures of two gendarmes, a man was wait- 
ing to receive his life — or death — sentence. 

All the world was here to judge this man ; and he, 
Lucien de Noirville, had come hither to defend him ! 
His duty bade him complete what he had undertaken^ 

Roger had but a single hope, and it was vested in 
Lucien. This hope betrayed, his ruin would be inevi- 
table. 

In de Noirville’s breast the voice of duty was para- 
mount ; it transcended shame, suffering, anger, and 
hatred. 

‘‘Gentlemen of the jury,” he began ; “ your honors 
and gentlemen of the jury — ” His voice had changed ; 


252 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


it bad grown hoarse and raucous, and its tones were 
scarcely audible. People looked at each other in 
wondering surprise, discussing the strange alteration 
in low whispers. They cast curious, astonished 
glances at him. 

Rest a few moments longer,” said the judge solici- 
tously, but de Noirville made a gesture of dissent, 
signifying that he did not require repose. He had 
summoned all his resistance to conquer his sorrow, 
exhaustion, and failing powers, for he felt that life 
was fast slipping from him, and that he must needs 
put forth all his energy of mind and body to hold for 
a short space in abeyance the death and deliverance 
which would soon overtake him. For still the voice 
of inexorable duty cried loud within him : 

“You were not mistaken. Though this man is base 
and disloyal, though he has brought shame and dis- 
honor upon your home, and clouded your life with 
gloom, yet it is not for these crimes that he is sum- 
moned hither. He is standing his trial for the murder 
of Larouette, and of this crime you know him to be 
innocent. Will you permit your ill-will to turn tlic 
scale against him ? and will you suffer him to be con- 
demned because he has been your wife’s lover? You 
have believed him innocent. You still believe him to 
be so, and he is. Therefore are you obliged to con- 
tinue his defense. Let your own eloquence break 
your heart, and die of your heroism, if needs must be, 
but in dying leave an example of loyalty worthy your- 
self. Die, proud in the consciousness of your own 
integrity, and calm in the knowledge of your own 
unselfishness ! ” 


7'HE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 253 

And so he continued his defense, while death slowly 
stole possession of his being, while every word that 
fell from hi^ lips gradually loosened the fragile cord 
that still bound him to life. 

He went on speaking. But now people were forced 
to lean well forward and pay the strictest attention to 
hear him. It was almost impossible to catch his tones. 
Heads were thrust eagerly forth while every breath 
was hushed in the endeavor to hear his weak voice. 
Near as he was to them, it was almost impossible for 
either judge or jury to distinguish his words. 

The judge interrupted him, finally. 

‘‘ Will you kindly raise your voice a little, if you can 
do so without too much inconvenience ? ’’ 

He tried, but failed in the attempt. Yet he con- 
tinued his speech, struggling on in spite of everything. 

He was determined now to save this man from a sense 

* 

of duty, just as, a few moments since, he had been 
determined to save him out of friendliness and love. 

And his own despair and breaking heart furnished 
him with passionate phrases and touching, pathetic 
accents that wrung people’s hearts and forced hot 
tears to their eyelids. 

Suddenly, however, as he was still speaking, con- 
cluding his strange, moving argument, nourished, so to 
speak, with his own flesh, and made instinct with his 
very life-blood, suddenly a new, terrible thought, which 
had not heretofore occurred to him, reared its ugly 
head and, arising, phantom-like before him, grasped 
him by the throat and strangled the words ere they 
reached his lips. 

This hideous monster was conceived as follows ; 


254 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


Julia had been Roger’s mistress, and Roger had 
stoutly refused to disclose the name of his mysterious 
debtor; of the pjsrson from whom he had received the 
stolen money. Was this debtor really, as Lucien had 
guessed, a woman ? And if so, was that woman his 
wife ? Had this money been a loan from the lover to 
his mistress ? 

But he knew that Julia had no means wherewith to 
repay so large a sum. Who then could have given 
it to her ? Another lover, perhaps : and this lover 
might be the murderer of Larouette. 

Oh, horror ! Into what a hideous abyss he was 
falling ! Julia, the accomplice of amurderer ! Julia, 
his wife ! the woman whom he had so tenderly loved ! 

What had he ever done to merit such degradation I 
He, the poor cripple ! the simple, loyal, honest, kindly 
gentleman ! 

But this fearful suggestion was more than his failing 
strength could support. He made a sublime effort at 
self-mastery and attempted to -continue his speech. 
But it was impossible. Suddenly his memory seemed 
to have left him. He staggered, tried to recover him- 
self, threw out his arms as if seeking support, and fell 
back heavily into his seat, gasping, with closed eyes 
and breathless voice, certain half-audible phrases 
among which one could distinguish : 

“ Indulgence — indulgence — Laroque is innocent ! ” 

Roger made a violent, impulsive movement toward 
•his friend, but the gendarmes nailed him to his place, 
while de Noirville was carried lifeless from the court- 
room. 

A physician. Dr. Martinaud, who happened to be 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 255 


in the audience, was hastily summoned to the dying 
man’s aid. But his succor was in vain. 

A few moments later a report got abroad that de 
Noirville was dead ; had died of the rupture of a 
blood-vessel. The report was true. 

When Laroque was informed of it, he buried his 
convulsed face in his hands that none might witness 
his terrible grief. 

A lively agitation spread throughout the audience. 
The lawyer had died while defending his friend. His 
friendship had been too much for him ! 

But Laroque was not deceived. He had seen the 
letter which de Noirville had received, and he had read 
the change that it had wrought in his friend’s counte- 
nance. He had observed him turn and look at him 
with scorn and bitter hatred in his glance and had 
readily interpreted the slight motion of his lips, as 
they muttered their brief, awful reproach, Infamy ! 
Infamy ! ” 

Yes, Lucien had told him all. He was thoroughly 
informed. He had accurately read the lawyer’s mind 
during his short, intense struggle with himself, and had 
recognized the various phases of surprise, despair, 
shame, irresolution, and self-sacrifice through which it 
had passed. In such tragic crises the spirit acquires 
extraordinary powers of penetration and insight. 

Roger had sounded the depths of Lucien’s soul ; of 
that soul which had once cherished him above all men 
on earth and which had passed into eternity cursing 
him. 

Already he had two deaths on his conscience, — that 
of Henriette and that of de Noirville ! 


^ 5 ^ the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

He raised his head when the judge asked him if he 
had anytliing to add to his counsehs defense, and re- 
plied in a firm, resolute voice, free from agitation or 
tremulousness : 

‘‘ I am guilty. I have robbed and killed. Con- 
demn me ! 

His reply was a very coup de thSdtre^ and created 
immense excitement in the court-room. A loud mur- 
mur filled the air and silence was with difficulty re- 
stored. The judge put several questions to Laroque, 
going back to certain details connected with the in- 
quest, but he could draw from the prisoner but one 
reply uttered in the same calm, unshaken voice : 

‘‘ I am guilty. Condemn me.” 

The poor fellow actually craved condemnation. He 
was strongly impressed with the feeling that he had 
two deaths to atone for, Henriette’s and Lucien’s. 

The jury retired to deliberate upon the case, and 
their absence was considerably protracted. Lucien 
had succeeded in his appeal to their hearts, and 
Laroque’s tardy confession failed to influence their 
opinions. 

They had detected a subtle and inexplicable mystery 
underlying all the evidence, but they hesitated and 
wavered as to their sentence, owing to the fact that 
their decision must be based upon the testimony sub- 
mitted to them and this testimony was condemnatory 
in the extreme. It was simply impossible for them to 
pass unregarded such proofs as the finding of the bills 
in Laroque’s possession, his refusal to acknowledge 
the source whence he had obtained -them, his in- 
ability to satisfactorily account for his time, Victoire’s 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 257 

deposition, and the strange conduct of his wife and 
child. 

Finally the jury returned to their places and the 
court reassembled. The foreman arose. 

Upon our souls and consciences,” he said, in a 
clear, direct tone, we believe the prisoner to be 
guilty ; but we consider that there are extenuating 
circumstances.” 

Laroque had been brought in again to hear his 
sentence. If Lucien had lived he might have pro- 
cured his liberation, but he had died leaving his task 
unfinished. Still, he had saved Roger’s life ; wrested 
him from the guillotine. 

Laroque was condemned to the galleys for life. 

The crowd waited for the sentence to be pronounced 
and then dispersed in silence, while Roger murmured 
distinctly enough for all to hear : 

“ It is just ! it is just ! ” 

They watched him disappear guarded on either side 
by the gendarmes, his head bowed upon his breast, and 
his broad shoulders arched and bent like those of an 
old man. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


U NCLE Adrien Benardit owned an iron-foundry at 
La Val-Dieu near Montherme, in the mountain- 
ous Ardennes, and thither he took Suzanne. 

Hardly had he reached home and confided her to 
the motherly care of his wife, — who received her with 
the affection she had formerly lavished upon her own 
child, who had died at Suzanne’s age, — when the 
latter fell ill. Reaction from the terrible strain which 
had been slowly undermining her strength all the time 
that her wonderful determination had enabled her to 
stave off its consequences, had set in now that self- 
control was no longer a necessity. 

Brain fever took possession of her poor little body, 
and threatened her life. Two young doctors, Moreaux 
and Lapierre, one from Donchery and the other from 
Sedan, visited her daily and used every effort to save 
her. 

For two weeks her life was despaired of. She was so 
fragile and delicate that the malady found her a ready 
victim. For long hours she would remain plunged in 
a stupor resembling death in its utter torpidity, and 
when she would finally rouse from this terrible lethargy, 
it was merely to enter a more fearful condition of 
frenzy in which she would rave and struggle, notwith- 
standing all Mine. Benardit’s efforts to control her, 
with a supernatural strength and fury that left her 
intensely weak and exhausted. 

258 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 259 


In this delirium she would often mutter long, inco- 
herent phrases, in a rapid, excited tone, in which the 
names of her father and mother, together with those 
of Larouette, Lacroix, and M. de Lignerolles, — these ^ 
latter accompanied with gestures of horror and fear, — 
were of frequent occurrence. 

Mingled with these dread recollections were others, 
of a pleasanter, less distressing nature doubtless, for 
two or three times she burst out singing : 

Straying, ’mongst the meadows, 

1 heard the reapers chanting, 

Their blest condition vaunting, 

‘ We know no grief ! ’ 

But I thought that tliey were chanting 
* We know the thief ^ 

And, wild with fear, I fled.’" 

At last the fever left her and she became gradually 
better. 

A month’s convalescence in the gay September 
sunshine amid the mountains, with their thickly wooded 
slopes painted in the most brilliant hues on Nature’s 
palette, and the sinuous Meuse trailing its silvery shim- 
mering length at their feet — a month of such life quite 
restored her. 

Uncle Benardit had made no attempt to conceal 
from her devoted physicians the causes which had led 
to this illness. 

“ Possibly it will obliterate all recollection of this sad 
tragedy from the child’s mind,” said Dr. Moreaux ; 
we will see.” 

‘‘ What a happy thing it would be for her,” remarked 
Lapierre. 


26 o the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 


Their suggestion proved to be true. With her 
newly regained health Suzanne appeared to have for- 
gotten her former life. At first she seemed a little 
restless, evidently realizing that there was a void in 
her life which she could not properly account for, and 
for some time she was apparently occupied in trying to 
recall the past. 

Mme. Benardit, who watched her dawning intelli- 
gence with maternal solicitude, attempted to guide it 
into healthy channels by telling her that her father 
and mother .had gone on a long journey, that she 
would not see them for many years, but that they would 
return to her some day. 

Suzanne listened attentively, but with a strange look 
in her eyes, and said nothing in return ; neither ask- 
ing a question nor hazarding a remark. Gradually, 
as the color grew again in her pale, thin cheeks, and 
her limbs regained the rounded curves of childhood, 
her unnatural gravity wore away and she became gay 
and joyous as of yore. 

Benardit and his wife became, at length, satisfied 
respecting her. 

“ She has forgotten,” they said to each other. 

They might have felt less assured if they had 
chanced to come upon the child in some of her mo- 
ments of self-abandon, when her face would again 
reflect its former expression of unchildlike concern 
and her brow become lined with thought and care. 

Winter, which is always severe in the Ardennes, 
came and went, giving place to the blossoming spring- 
tide ; then another winter came on, and Roger Ba- 
roque had served one year and a half in the galleys. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 261 

Snow had been falling for several days, and the frost 
had congealed and hardened it. It lay thickly on 
trees, slopes, and roofs, covering everything with a 
white, heavy pall. The forges in La Val-Dieu, and 
Benardit’s foundry, which usually appeared black and 
covered with soot, seemed to have fallen into the 
embrace of death, for the snowy mantle that envel- 
oped them muffled the usual harsh discords which pro- 
ceeded from the heavy strokes of the hammers upon 
the glowing metals. The sounds of sabots clacking 
on the hard ground were no longer audible, nor the 
wheels of the heavily laden carts as they sank noise- 
lessly into the thick snow. 

But the work did . not cease, notwithstanding. 
Above the tall, smoke-begrimed brick chimneys the 
clouds of black smoke curled heavenwards, and lay in 
long, dark ridges against the clear blue sky. 

Night had fallen ; a night vastly quieter than the 
day ; and the silvery moonlight seemed to make still 
whiter the glistening sheen of the snow. From the 
myriads of chimneys thousands of sparks escaped into 
the night, while ever and anon the flames themselves 
would burst above this confinement, as if making 
strenuous efforts to escape and mount to their celes- 
tial brethren. 

As it was fearfully cold, all the houses along the 
route to La Val-Dieu were closed, and yellowish lights 
streamed upon the street from behind their drawn 
window curtains. Darkness, cold, and snow seemed 
to have buried the village in a sort of torpor. It must 
have been about ten o’clock in the evening, and the 
street had been long deserted. 


262 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

The only persons visible about La Val-Dieu were in 
the vicinity of the forges, from whose doors dusky 
figures would occasionly issue, smoke-stained and 
dripping with sweat, with brawny, muscular bodies 
bare to the waist, and pass from the extreme of heat 
to the icy chill without. And when the foundry- 
doors would thus open one might catch a momenlaiy 
glimpse of the scene within, where, about leaping, 
glowing flames and red-hot glittering furnaces, circled 
numbers of demoniacal figures apparently engaged in 
some infernal game with the mounting tongues of fire. 

About half-past ten, a man came into view in the 
direction of the railway which is thrown across the 
Meuse between two tunnels. 

The train from Givet had just deposited him at the 
Montherme station, and even now the clank of its 
heavy wheels was audible as it steamed on its way into 
the mountain which leads to Charleville. 

The man slowly descended the snowy towing-path 
which follows the course of the river, whose banks were 
now thickly caked with ice. 

He was exceedingly tall. This fact was very evi- 
dent notwithstanding the stoop in his shoulders, which 
seemed to denote that he had carried a burden in ex- 
cess of his strength. 

A soft, shapeless felt hat came well down upon his 
forehead, its brim nearly concealing his face. About 
his throat was twisted a silk scarf. An old thread- 
bare coat, too small for his massive proportions, 
scantily protected him from the chill night air. He 
wore no overcoat, and the frayed edges of his trousers 
scarcely reached to his clumsy shoes. He carried a 
stick cut from some forest tree. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 263 


Evidently he was not sure of his way, for every now 
and then he would stop and look questioningly about 
him. Muffled though they were, the heavy strokes of 
the iron hammers reached his ears, sounding like 
noises proceeding from a subterranean forge, where 
some giant blacksmith was at work, hammering upon 
a monster anvil. 

These sounds directed the traveler on his way. 
Arrived at La Val-Dieu he approached some glass- 
works whose windows flamed with ruddy lights, and 
accosted two men who were standing in the court- 
yard. 

Excuse me, sir,’’ he said, “ but I want to ask you 
to direct me.” 

All right, my lad,” returned one of the workmen, 
with a strong Belgian accent. Where do you want 
to go ? ” 

“ I am on my way to M. Adrien Benardit’s foundry, 
and I am at a loss to discover it.” 

“ Oh, yes ! that’s well known enough, hereabouts ; 
though it is true that in this dog’s weather you would 
not be apt to meet even a cat to show you the way.” 

The workman left the court-yard and went forward 
a little way upon a path whose white surface was 
smirched with charcoal-dust, and pointed in the direc- 
tion of Semsy. 

‘‘ Go straight ahead,” he said. It is the first 
forge you come to.” 

The stranger thanked him, and five minutes later 
reached the forge. 

Here, as if too fearful to enter, he roamed about 
outside the buildings, like a thief seeking an un- 


264 T^IE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

guarded door. At last he paused and sat down on 
the steps of a cart, in an open shed, and seemed lost 
in meditation. He had been sitting there perhaps 
five minutes when a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, 
while a rather stern voice exclaimed : 

Here ! what are you doing out here ? ” 

The man rose and confronted a tall, fresh-featured, 
strong-limbed old man, clad in brown velveteen, with 
his trouser-legs tucked into a pair, of high boots. A 
fur cap covered his head. 

You are M. Adrien Benardit ? ” asked the stranger. 

I am ; there is no doubt about that, I believe. 
Who are you ? ” 

The man looked carefully about as if to assure 
himself that no one was listening, then, lowering his 
head, he said in a deep voice, broken by heavy, sup- 
pressed sobs, I am Roger, uncle. Don’t you re- 
member me? ” 

As* he spoke. Uncle Benardit drew back ; then he 
seized Laroque by both arms and gazed long and 
steadily at him as if he could not, would not believe 
his statement. 

You ! ” he finally exclaimed, in a stifled voice. 

You here ! — in France ! — free ! ” 

Yes ; it is indeed I,” said the man, and he lifted 
his wide felt hat that Benardit might the more readily 
identify him, adding at the same time, as if he had but 
one thought, one object in life : 

‘‘And Suzanne? My daughter ? You say nothing 
of her ! ” 

“ She lives, and is well. Calm yourself. ” 

Roger Laroque drew a deep sigh of relief. He had 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 265 


anticipated some fresh blow. There was a short 
silence between the two men ; then Benardit said : 

‘‘ Come ! come home with me. I suppose it is 
necessary that no one should see you ? '' 

‘‘ Yes ; I should be ruined.’' 

We can talk at our ease in the house. Wait here 
a moment ; I must return and give some orders, after 
which I will rejoin you.” 

He went off and Roger watched him disappear into 
the foundry as if he had been swallowed up in a fiery 
gulf. Fve minutes passed followed by B^nardit’s re- 
turn. 

“ Come ! ” he said to Roger, and they moved 
quietly away. 

Benardit’s house was not far distant from the foun- 
dry, and Mine. Benardit was still up when they arrived. 

The lamplight filtered brightly through the inter- 
stices of the closed blinds. 

The good woman was just preparing to retire when 
her husband, accompanied by Roger, entered the house. 
At the sight of Benardit’s pale and agitated face, at 
the sight of the ragged, disheveled man who entered 
with him, Mine. Benardit rose in vague alarm. 

Benardit carefully shut the door and then motioned 
to Laroque. 

“ It is Roger, ” he said, addressing his wife. Roger 
Laroque, Henriette’s husband and Suzanne’s father.” 

Mine. Benardit gave vent to the same startled ex- 
clamations which the tidings had drawn from her 
husband. 

“You ! Here ! Free ! ” she cried, in consternation. 

She had never seen him, and therefore could not 


266 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 

recognize him. Laroque bent his head twice in affirm- 
ation. 

He could not command his voice to speak ; then he 
fell heavily into a chair. 

“ Suzanne ! he muttered brokenly. “ I want Su- 
zanne.'' 

B^nardit and his wife gazed at each other in alarm. 
Had he come to rob them of the child ? 

“She is asleep," said the old lady, at last. 

“ Oh ! I wont wake her ; I swear I wont. I will 
go in so softly. But I must look at her ! — I must. I 
have been so afraid that I should never see her 
again ! " 

Mme. Benardit hesitated, but finally opened a door 
and made a sign to him. He went forward walking 
on his tiptoes, and entered a pretty little white 
chamber adorned with spotless muslin curtains and 
bearing an air of purity and freshness. At the further 
end of the room on her dainty white bed the child lay, 
fast asleep. 

The lamplight entered through the open doorway 
and dimly illuminated the tiny apartment. Laroque 
took a few steps and paused, trembling with emotion. 
Bending over the bed he fixed a long searching gaze 
upon the slumbering child while his wan face worked 
with suppressed excitement. 

The pretty fair head, with its loosely scattered locks 
wandering carelessly over the coverings, lay resting 
peacefully upon the pillows. One of her arms had 
been tossed outside the blankets and hung listlessly 
upon the side of the bed. She was sleeping so quietly 
and easily that her breathing was scarcely audible. 


THE SHADO W OF ROGER LAROQDE. 267 

Evidently she was dreaming pleasant dreams, for she 
smiled in her sleep. 

Laroque leaned still closer and let his lips touch the 
small hand with a silent, furtive caress. Suzanne moved 
a little and opened her eyes sleepily ; then drew her 
hand within the coverings and turned over upon her 
other side to continue her dreams, leaving nothing 
visible but the long, thick masses of her curly hair. 

Laroque withdrew and Mme. Benardit, after waiting 
a moment to assure herself that the child had gone to 
sleep again, followed him, closing the door carefully 
behind her. 

Roger had seated himself before the crackling fire, 
and was silently weeping. 

He had been touched to the heart by this glimpse 
of his child, of the daughter from whom he had been 
separated for a year and a half, separated by an insur- 
mountable barrier, by an infamous condemnation, and 
whom he had never expected to see again, with the 
fatal shadow of the galleys looming between them. 

Suddenly his tears ceased, and he thrust his hand 
into the breast of his coat with a hollow groan. He 
swayed blindly in his seat as if overtaken by a sudden 
vertigo, and would have fallen to the floor if Benardit 
had not sprang to his assistance. As he held him 
supported in his strong old arms, Benardit heard him 
whisper in a low, shamefaced tone : 

“ For pity’s sake ! a morsel of bread. I have eaten 
nothing for three days ! ’* 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A fter Laroque had eaten something and had 
drunk a glass of Bordeaux he seemed to feel 
better. He lifted his eyes and encountered the gaze 
of the two old people fixed on him in painful surprise. 

‘‘ You are doubtless wondering,” he said, how I 
happen to be here ; I, who a year and a half ago was 
condemned to the galleys for life ? ” 

‘‘You escaped?” asked Mme, Benardit. 

“ Six months after my arrival at New Caledonia I 
escaped with five political prisoners who had been 
sentenced by the war department at Versailles. From 
place to place, from boat to boat, in the capacity of 
sailor, servant, or generally as a mechanic, I made my 
way to America, where I remained nearly a year. 
Having begun life as an apprentice in the factory in 
the Rue Saint Maur, I found no difficulty in earn- 
ing a living at the same work in New York. But I 
had but one aim in life ; that of again beholding my 
child, and with this purpose in view I lived in strict 
economy that I might save sufficient to pay my pas- 
sage back to France. Having accumulated enough I 
took a ticket for Antwerp, which was a safe destina- 
tion in case the police were on the watch for me, since 
there I should be on Belgian soil. Lucien de Noir- 
ville had informed me that you had assumed the charge 
268 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 269 

of Suzanne, and as Montherme is but a short distance 
from the frontier, I ran but little risk in venturing 
hither. The money which I had saved scarcely suf- 
ficed to defray my expenses, so that upon reaching 
Antwerp I found myself without a sou in my pocket. 
I have made the journey here on foot, begging my 
way along the road. A few sous, given me in charity, 
permitted me to take the train from Givet, as I have 
less to fear on a railway than on the open road, where 
at any moment I may be stopped and my papers de- 
manded by gendarmes. This is how I happened to 
come here and why I appear before you so poor, 
hungry, and wretched an object.’' 

“ And what do you mean to do now ?” asked Benar- 
dit hesitatingly. 

‘‘Oh, don’t fear that I shall long trouble you !” he 
replied. “ I have no desire to compromise you, for 
you would be compromised if it were known in the 
village that you had given asylum to a convict who 
had broken jail.” He spoke with some bitterness. 

“ Do you really think that I am influenced by sudi 
a fear?” asked the old man. 

“ It is but natural. I could not blame you for it.” 

“ When I asked what you meant to do,” explained 
Benardit, “ it was simply from a desire to discover 
what were your resources, and what projects you had 
in view ; for I didn’t for a moment suppose that you 
would be foolhardy enough to endeavor to live in 
France scarcely a year after your condemnation. 
That would insure your speedy ruin.” 

“ No ; I do not intend to remain in France ; I even 
intend to quit it this very night. I only ask you — for 


2 70 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


I am utterly" destitute of everything — to giye me some 
cleaner, better clothes than these and a little money. 
Do not think that I would ask you for money for my- 
self. I would sooner beg if I were alone, and 1 could 
easily work my own passage to America, wlnther I 
mean to return. But if I were penniless, dependent 
upon precarious charity in this cold, bitter season, 
Suzanne might suffer ; and I could not stand that ! ” 

“Why do you mention Suzanne ? “ 

“ Have I not come on purpose to get her? ** 

“ What ! you mean to take her from us ? 

“ Why are you so surprised ? Is it not my natural 
right ? ” 

“ Your right, wretched man ? Your right ? And 
pray, before what tribunal do you mean to establish 
this right that you vaunt so loudly ? Has not your 
condemnation severed you from the world, its society 
and laws ? “ 

The Benardits sat gazing at each other in speechless 
consternation and dismay. We have mentioned that 
they had grown to love Suzanne like their own child, 
and to lose her now would be like parting with their 
own flesh. 

“ I cannot live without my child,” said Roger. 

“ Suzanne must remain with us. Here she will find 
peace, plenty, and happiness ; can you give her as 
much ? 

“ I will try. I am young and strong ; a long life 
may yet remain to me.” 

“ But there is one thing which she will find here 
which you cannot bestow upon her — ” 

“ Uncle ! ” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 271 

“ And tl\at is an honorable name, free from stain or 
suspicion.” 

Uncle! uncle! they condemned me, it is true, 
but I was innocent ! ” 

Benardit had always believed and maintained this 
fact, yet in this crisis he made a vague gesture of 
doubt and disbelief. Circumstances were rendering 
him cruel. 

“ You are none the less disgraced.” 

Roger dropped his head and sat a few moments in 
thought. 

1 understand,” he said finally, why you wish to 
keep Suzanne. I understand and love you all the 
better for your persistency. But my child is my sole 
hope, my only joy in life, the only object that makes 
existence endurable and holds death in abeyance. 
She is necessary to me ; I must and will have her. 
Yet, I feel bound to reassure you upon one point ; I 
feel it my simple duty to convince you that in restor- 
ing my child to me, you do not give her into the doubt- 
ful keeping of a thief or murderer. To do this I must 
make you a confession which I refused to Lucien de 
Noirville, to judges, and jury. It would have secured 
my liberation, but honor forbade my making it. I 
tell you, that I may persuade you to restore Suzanne 
to me ; that I may convince you of my paternal right 
to her and that you may feel that you have no excuse 
for withholding her from me. Listen ! ” And with 
brief dispatch, with an accent of truth which allowed 
of no doubt of his veracity, he recounted the circum- 
stances with which we are familiar. Moved by the 
mighty desire of securing his child, he told all without 
reservations. 


272 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE, 

M. and Madame Benardit listened closely without 
interrupting the recital. It was a cruel story of suffer- 
ing and misfortune, and the sequence of events was so 
logical and close that it never occurred to them to 
doubt its probability. 

As he finished, a sigh escaped them both. 

“ You have a right to the child,’' the old man finally 
forced himself to admit. He no longer felt that they 
could claim her, could deprive this wretchedly ill-fated 
man of the sole joy of his life, of the only ray of sun- 
shine that might brighten the gloom of his lot. 

But the real criminal,” he went on meditatively ; 
“ the actual murderer ! Where is he ? Have you 
never formed any theory regarding him ? Have you 
never sought to discover him. Might it not, perchance, 
be this very woman herself ?” 

“Ay,” replied Laroque bitterly, “ I have thought of 
him ; I have tried to unearth him ; no day ever 
passes over my head that I do not spend a part of it 
in trying to solve this mystery.” 

“ But this woman, I say ; this woman, what of her ? ” 

“I have even thought of her, I must admit, but it 
could not be she. How could she have committed the 
crime ? Alone ? With an accomplice ? To rob ? — 
to avenge herself ? — no, it is impossible. It is foolish 
to consider such an idea — an idle waste of time.” 

“ You are right,” Uncle Benardit assented. “ Then 
what shall we conclude ? ” 

“We must simply wait for time to unravel it,” said 
Roger. 

As the fire was burning low, Mme. Benardit rose to 
replenish it, throwing on a lot of fagots and cones 


THE SHADOW, OF ROGER LAROQUE. 273 

which caused it to flame out afresh. Midnight sounded 
from the clock on the mantel. 

Uncle,” said Roger, ‘‘daylight must not find me 
here. There is a train for Givet and Brussels at two 
o’clock in the morning ; I must take it — with Suzanne.” 

“ So soon ? ” cried Mme. B^nardit, wiping her 
streaming eyes with her handkerchief. 

“ It is necessary,” Roger answered gently. “ For- 
give the pain I am causing you.” 

“ It is well,” the old man returned. “ You are 
free to do as you vvill, and since go you must, it is 
better that you do not delay your departure. I 
am distressed — for you, I mean, lest some misfortune 
may befall you. But you need not leave us in such 
destitution as you came in. Let me find you some 
clothes.” 

He went up to an upper chamber and his footsteps 
were audible to those below as he came and went in 
the room overhead. Mme. Benardit and Laroque sat 
gazing silently into the fire during his absence, watch- 
ing the leaping flames and the gummy sweat extracted 
from the pores of the wood by the intense heat. 

After a few moments Benardit reappeared. He 
threw over the back of a chair a flannel shirt, a pair of 
winter trowsers, a waistcoat, and a large, wide coat, 
lined with fox-skins ; to these he added a fur cap sim- 
ilar to his own. 

“ These may not all fit like a glove,” he said to 
Roger, “ for you are broader than I ; but we are the 
same height, and at all events the overcoat will hide 
all imperfections. In the trowsers’ pocket you will find 
my pocket-book, containing two or three hundred 


2 74 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LA ROQUE. 


francs in gold, — and in the inside pocket of the waist- 
coat you will find my note-case — ” 

‘‘Oh, uncle !” interrupted Laroque. 

“Yes, you must not go from us penniless, my lad, 
and, fortunately, as I have no children, I am suffi- 
ciently well provided for. In the note-case you will 
find seven one thousand franc notes and one thousand 
francs in small notes of one hundred francs each, so 
that you will not be bothered with changing your 
larger bills about here, and will thus avoid drawing 
attention upon yourself.’' 

“ It is too much, uncle ; far too much ! ” 

“ No, on the contrary, it is scarcely enough, for I 
do not wish Suzanne to suffer from deprivation, you 
understand. This is all I have at my command just 
now, but if, in America, you ever require a similar 
service, don’t forget to write me, and you shall receive 
what you may need by return post. Will you promise 
me this ? ” 

“ How wonderfully good and kind you are, uncle ; 
and how deeply grateful I am to you ! ” 

“ Promise me,” insisted the generous old fellow. 

“I swear it,” said Laroque; “but I trust never to 
be obliged to do so.” 

“ I hope you may not for your own sake, my lad ; 
for I think that you will succeed, as you are honest, 
strong, and intelligent. Remember that it has been 
said that the best of all talents is that of honesty. 
You will succeed, I feel convinced, but difficulties 
may encompass your first efforts, and that is why I 
wish you to feel in parting that you leave behind you 
a friend, — which is no rare thing, — and an open purse, 
— which is more uncommon.” 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 275 

Roger shook his hands, too deeply moved for 
speech. The great and unexpected generosity of the 
old man had profoundly touched him. 

“ I have not given you any linen,” continued Benar- 
dit, but you can buy what you and Suzanne may 
need with some of your money.” 

Mine. Benardit went to a wardrobe and drew from 
it a fur coat, a Boa, hat, muff, and gloves, got ready 
Suzanne’s other clothing, and placed a pair of tiny 
boots near the fire to warm, crying silently as she 
made her preparations. When everything was ready 
she opened the house-door and looked forth into the 
night. The weather had changed. The wind had 
risen and covered the hitherto starry sky with a thick 
veil of fleecy clouds, and the snow had began to fall 
again in such large, dry flakes that it seemed as if a 
white canopy were being let down from heaven to 
earth. 

“ To leave on such a night ! ” she muttered to her- 
self, shuddering. A sudden gust blew in a cloud of 
snow, and made the lamp sputter and flicker. She 
pushed the door to, adding : 

“ Poor child ! Poor child ! She was so happy 
here ! ” ' ^ 

Roger Laroque had been pacing the floor with 
thoughtful brow, occasionally pausing to glance from 
Benardit to his wife, with a doubtful, hesitating look. 
A question trembled on his lips that he dared not give 
utterance to. At last he seemed to reach a decision. 

Uncle,” he said, you have told me nothing about 
Suzanne. How has the past year gone with her t 
Has she spoken of me ? — and in what terms ? Does 


276 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 


she, in fine, remember the details of that terrible 
dream in which she took part ? and how will she 
receive me ? ” 

“ Suzanne narrowly escaped dying of brain-fever,” 
the old man replied ; and since her recovery she has 
never let fall a word that could lead us to infer that 
she remembered the past. We told her a fable to the 
effect that you had gone on a voyage from which you 
would some day return to claim her, and she appeared 
to credit it. It was not an actual falsehood you see, 
since here you are. But,” continued Benardit, with an 
apprehensive frown on his brow, when she shall see 
you again in a few moments, will not all the past sad 
recollections revive in her poor little brain ? Don’t 
you fear this, Roger ? Reflect, there is still time ! ” 
Who knows ?” exclaimed Laroque ; ‘‘ possibly the 
year and a half which have elapsed since those terrible 
events may have served to obliterate all memories of 
them in her young mind. She was scarcely seven 
years old at the time. Then, too, this brain fever ! 
Was it not perhaps a direct boon from Heaven, throw- 
ing the obscurity of forgetfulness on her young brain 
and establishing a firm line between the past and 
future ? ” 

“ May it be as you desire ! ” Uncle Benardit said ; 

you shall have your way with the child. Stay here. 
My wife and I will go and wake Suzanne and break 
the news to her gently ; then v/e will bring her to 
you.” 

The clock struck one. 

‘‘Time passes. Fortunately we are not far from the 
station, Twenty minutes will suffice for you. Begin 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 277 

to dress at once.” He left Laroque, and with his wife 
entered Suzanne’s chamber. 

The child was still sleeping the calm sleep of inno- 
cence. Mme. Benardit approached the bed, bent down 
and embraced her ; then called her softly. 

Suzanne, darling ! My precious, wake up ! ” But 
the child was so sound asleep that she failed to hear. 
Mme. Benardit stooped and tenderly raised her in her 
arms, throwing about her the fur coat she had brought 
with her. Still half-asleep, Suzanne opened her blue 
eyes. 

“ Wake up, my child ; it is I, your old grandma ! ” 

Rubbing her eyes sleepily with her hands, Suzanne 
looked from one to the other of the old people. 

Is it morning already ? ” she murmured lazily. 

“ No, my child, it is the middle of the night ; but 
we have waked you to tell you some good news.” 

‘‘ Good news ! — like last winter ? But it isn’t Christ- 
mas or New Year’s yet.” 

That is true ; but something nice has happened, 
nevertheless ! See now ! in the secret corners of your 
little heart, isn’t there some wish that you never tell 
even grandpa or me?” 

Something I want ? ” 

Yes ; don’t be afraid to speak out.” 

“ Why, no, grandma ; nothing but to be good so 
that you and grandpa wont have to scold me.” 

‘‘ Nothing else ? ” 

Yes ; that I may never leave La Val-Dieu.” 

There, that is something, you see. Now, what 
else ? ” 

That is all, grandma.” 


278 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQDE. 

Don’t you long for anything else ? ” 

No, nothing. Don’t you and grandpa love me ? 
and isn’t that enough ? ” 

You forget that we are not the only ones who love 
you.” 

“Who else?” 

“ Some one whom you have not seen for a long 
time — who brought you up — who loves you dearly, — 
your father ! ” Mme. Benardit was still holding the 
child in her arms, with the poor little drowsy head 
resting on her shoulders. As she mentioned Laroque 
she felt a shudder pass through the little frame; it 
was as though the child had received an electric shock. 
Was it joy ? or was it some far different emotion ? 
The old lady could not tell. 

“My father!” Suzanne exclaimed, in a low tone. 
“ My father ! You have seen him again ? ” 

“ He is here, waiting for you, — he has just kissed 
you in your sleep ! ” 

The child said nothing, but if Mme. Benardit had 
seen her during those terrible days when, in order to 
extract the truth from her, the officers had subjected 
her young, frail being to such cruel tests, she would 
have recognized her present expression. In one in- 
stant her face had regained its former look of preco- 
cious gravity ; the features had grown pinched and 
thin, and the skin sallow and gray, while the brow had 
become furrowed with wrinkles. 

But Mme. Benardit had not seen her at that time 
and so failed to detect the resemblance, and as to the 
old uncle, he was too preoccupied to heed it. After 
a moment’s pause, she controlled her emotion. 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE, 279 

Father has come ! ” she said ; then why is he not 
here ? ’’ 

Gathering her closely in her arms, Mme. Benardit 
carried her into the room where Laroque was waiting. 

As his eyes fell upon his child, Roger extended his 
arms, and as Mme. Benardit laid Suzanne tenderly in 
them, he uttered a cry and covered the little face with 
eager, passionate kisses. 

‘‘ My child ! my little daughter ! My precious 
one ! ” he exclaimed, while hot tears ran down his 
cheeks, failing to notice in his joy that the little form 
lay mute and unresponsive in his embrace. He lav- 
ished a thousand caresses and endearments upon her, 
and then asked : 

Are you glad to see me again, my darling ?” 

“Yes, father.” 

“ Have you sometimes thought of me ? ” 

“Yes, father; but they told me you were coming 
back.” 

“And hereafter we shall never again be parted.” 

“So much the better, father; I shall be glad 
of it.” 

“ We shall go away together.” 

“ Go away ? ” 

“Yes ; we must leave La Val-Dieu.” 

“Leave La Val-Dieu !” she repeated, as if she did 
not comprehend his meaning. 

“ At once, my child. We must leave immediately 
to take the train at the station.” 

“Leave La Val-Dieu!” she reiterated vaguely. 
“Leave grandpa and grandma!” — she had been in 
the habit of calling Monsieur and Madame Benardit 


28 o the shadow of ROGER LA ROQUE, 


by these titles — I have been so happy here with 
them ; why can we not remain ? 

It is impossible, my darling, for my home is dis- 
tant, far distant from here.” 

‘‘ But, father, why can’t you come and live here with 
us?” 

I cannot, my child.” 

Why not, father ? ” 

‘‘Because of reasons which you would not under- 
stand even if I had time to explain them to you, which 
I have not.” 

“Very well, father,” she whispered, in a low, almost 
inaudible tone ; “we will go.” 

Laroque had watched her closely during this conver- 
sation, endeavoring to sound the very innermost re- 
cesses of the child’s heart in order to discover if she 
were concealing anything from him. As his efforts 
revealed nothing, his soul was filled with joy, and his 
spirits rose high within him. 

“ She has forgotten,” he told himself ; “ ay, truly she 
has forgotten all ! ” 

Mme. Benardit dressed her in her warm clothes, 
repressing her own grief meanwhile, that the sight 
of her tears might not distress her. Suzanne al- 
lowed herself to be dressed and enveloped in her 
warm cloak, received her muff, and permitted the 
boa to be tied about her neck in silence ; but her 
large eyes followed every motion of Mme. Benardit’s 
hands with the closest attention. It seemed as if 
she longed to put some questions to the old lady, but 
was afraid to. 

As for Benardit, he stood leaning against the man- 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 281 


tie, apparently observing nothing of what was going 
on, and lost in thought. 

At last Suzanne was ready ; Laroque also was 
dressed in the clothing with which his uncle had fur- 
nished him. Suddenly a single silvery stroke burst 
from the clock. It was half*past one. 

You must go ! ” exclaimed the old man, rousing 
himself from his abstraction. “The snow has made 
walking difficult, and as it has recommenced during 
the last hour you must be careful not to slide into the 
Meuse.” 

Mme. Benardit smothered Suzanne’s face in a long, 
wide cashmere scarf so that she should be thoroughly 
protected from the cold night air ; then gathering her 
closely to her breast, and making no further attempt 
to restrain her tears, she sobbed : 

“ Go, go, my dear little love ! I am too old to hope 
ever to see you again ; so this will be the last time I 
shall ever embrace you in this world. Go, my darling, 
and may God guard and protect thee ! ” 

The child was pale as death, but she did not shed a 
single tear. Benardit kissed her in his turn. 

“As for me,” he said gently, “I feel safe regarding 
your future. Your father will take good care of 
you. When I and my wife are both dead, all our 
effects shall be sold, and as we have no other heirs 
you shall receive the benefit. You will have some 
hundred thousands of francs which will not stand 
in the way of your being married.” He turned 
aside, passed his hand over his eyes, and coughed 
violently. 

Laroque made his adieux and shook hands with 


282 the shadow of ROGER LAROQUE. 


the old people, warmly. In the presence of their suf- 
fering he, too, was sad. 

He raised Suzanne in his strong arms. 

I can’t let you walk,” he said tenderly. “ The 
snowy ground would freeze your delicate little feet.’' 

Mme. Benardit opened the outer door. A violent 
gust blew wildly in and extinguished the lamp. La- 
roqiie paused and murmured to the child in a grave 
tone : 

“ My darling, embrace once more those who have 
so nobly replaced your father and mother, and promise 
them that you will never forget them, that you will 
love and remember them all your life.” 

‘‘Grandma and grandpa,” she said obediently, in a 
low, trembling voice, “1 shall love you always ; I will 
never forget you.” 

As the night was very dark and the lamp had not 
been relighted it was impossible to see whether Benar- 
dit and his wife were still weeping ; but the former 
spoke and his voice was very tremulous and uncertain 
as he said to Laroque : 

“ Do you remember your way, or had I better go 
with you ? ” 

“ It is unnecessary, especially in such weather. At 
the end of this road I shall come to the glass works, 
shall I not ? ” 

“ Yes ; turn to the left and take the high-road until 
you come to the towing-path, wdiich will lead you 
directly to the station.” 

“ Thank you. Good-by again. Pray for me ! — 
for her, — for her ! — ” and he disappeared into the 
night. He had taken scarcely four or five steps in the 


THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 283 


fast-falling snow before he was completely hidden 
from view. He strode on rapidly, carrying his pre- 
cious burden lightly in his arms. By the time he had 
reached the Meuse the wind had become so bitterly 
cold that it was almost unendurable ; the swollen 
Meuse had nearly overflowed its icy banks and rolled 
sluggishly onward, a yellow, turbid current of slimy 
water. 

“ Are you cold, my darling ? Laroque asked 
solicitously. 

No, father ; I do not feel the cold at all ; I am 
very comfortable.” 

“ Don’t grieve me, dearest, by weeping, I beseech 
you.” 

I am not weeping, papa.” 

‘‘ Yet you loved them, those good old people whom 
we have left behind us ? ” 

“Dearly, father.” 

“ Don’t mourn too much for them. I love you, 
also, and will do all in my power to make you love me.” 

His foot slipped on the icy ground, but he was too 
solid to lose his balance. There was no danger of his 
mistaking the way, for the Meuse was an excellent 
guide. 

A yellow point of light pierced the night ; it was 
one of the lanterns on the railroad bridge. He had 
been walking a quarter of an hour. Five minutes 
later he reached the station where he took two first- 
class tickets for Givet. 

The station was deserted ; the unbroken snow 
seemed to wrap everything in a huge winding-sheet. 

At length the train steamed in and Roger and 


284 THE SHADOW OF ROGER LAROQUE. 

Suzanne entered it ; another moment and it was again 
on its way. 

Down yonder, in the little house near the foundry 
they had relighted the lamp, and before the dead ashes 
of the fire, which had expired unheeded by them, two 
old people were seated in silent grief, making no 
attempt to conceal from each other the tears that 
streamed down their withered cheeks. 


THE END. 



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